The Path is long, crooked and naturally hostile. Sharp rocks hide in the mud, roots and stones entwine in an invisible maze of horrors, every step could prove fatal.
When our turn comes we all cross the Path, at first alone, then together. Not because we are unaware of other ways or of the possibility of ignoring movement itself by standing still, but because the Path calls us.
The Path knows our names when we ourselves have forgotten them; it knows all of our failures when we pretend to have forgotten them; it knows our desires when we no longer remember them, naive dreams forgotten and replaced by others more likely to be realized and therefore when realized: empty.
When our turn comes, we can not refuse its call.