We are not the voyage's master, only its witness. Each stroke of the oar is a small yes to the unknown, and in that yes, the self is slowly carved, like stone by the patient sea.
Fear and desire are one tide wearing two faces. No harbor waits. The sea is time, and freedom is only this: to stay awake at the oar while the abyss and the gold both call.
Every passage is narrow. On one side, the dark that devours; on the other, the gold that seduces. We never choose a shore, only how we steer between what we fear and what we desire.
