What I hope, when I hope, is that we will again reach the Vein, that smooth structure of flow connecting heart to head powering the mind-- that ghost in the machine-- within it. To do it, so much must be trusted, bought on margin, with so much beautiful beautiful risk. Perhaps all of human history has been shaped by the risk: someone embracing it or attempting to cage it. It exists. It exists.
And it is worth the risk to prove that it does. Falling in love with anyone with anything poses such a grave risk and yet we do it daily. And what rewards are reaped from it, lifelong and precious as an heirloom. How much more then could be won should we all as one embark on the wildly imperfect, harrowingly difficult journey to the Vein, as impossible as the journey to the moon once must have seemed?
