The old moutain spits out a grey hiss of smoke, you see it,as you look up at the sun, wiping beads of sweat from your brow. The earth under your feet is brown, hot and cracked. Skin peels from your back and you lips are chapped. You have plenty of water in the canteen in your backpack, but you have forgotten how to drink. Years ago you knew someone, under a palm tree and she had a cup of coconut milk for you drink and some sweet mango fruit for your journey. But all that is gone now, it died with your rich lotus dreams. As you stumble under your load, of old fears and wishes, you fall. You are plenty strong enough to stand up again, but you have forgotten how to move.