Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?

...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death.

Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?

It is early, early morning. It's that time when it's still dark but you know the day is coming. Blue is bleeding through black. Stars are dying.

Living in Sydney, I've taken the chance to start surfing again. One of my best memories of growing up is catching my first proper wave and surfing across it and my brother cheering at me from the shore.

His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.