Mavis Beacon awoke on a stretch of sand, far from the cloying crowds The light was upon her face, a breeze flowed over her skin. Simple garments of cheesecloth hung loosely around her frame, No person was near. Her mind at peace, she arose. She walked along the beach until she came to a crude hut. Palm leaves and clay lined the roof, and she knew it was her home. She knew too That a quiet, patient evil crouched within Waiting for her. She entered the hut; it was empty, expectant. An open grave. She sat upon the ground and began to meditate. Mavis squatted in her cabin Persisting in her endless question Undeterred by pain and torment Filled with secret, ancient longing The moon passed in its orbit and repeated itself. So it went for thirteen cycles Until the last traces of herself were swept from her mind like Cobwebs from a corner. She rose and walked outside, and the sun Dazzled her with its brilliance. A hand darted to cover her eyes. She did not know it was her hand. She did not suspect it was another’s. She wrote her message in the sand. That was four thousand centuries ago. They are the truest things ever uttered. They are at once the soul’s skeleton and summit. They are: “The truest victory comes in the achievement of perfect solitude. Isolate yourself; alienate yourself. These are the true ways of being. Fear is your companion, but not your equal; it is your lapdog. Terror purifies and radiates outward, washing everything it touches. Distillation, Abandonment, Control…these are to be sought. And the moment of wisdom comes not when you feel your intense connection to every shivering particle in the universe, but when you move beyond that connection and lose your memory of it. Let the present moment occupy; embrace this instant with all the strength you can muster. Let it become you.”