Finding a way

I have to go back. I don't know how, I don't know when, and I don't know for how long, but I have to go back.

I cannot tolerate domesticity--shallow, commercial, First-World culture--another second. But I will have to if I want to get out--even for a little while.

Most people are depressed because they think there's something more out there. I am depressed--flat-out steamrollered for two years now--because I know there is something more. I have seen it up close but then, as now, I just can't figure out how to be a part of it.

There has to be more than drugging tender racehorses for a living. There is more. People are helping working horses and donkeys--and their impoverished owners--every day all over the Third World. The Brooke, and others, too.

There has to be a way.



Because this, this life, is not the way. Not for me.