On a road going nowhere, I find myself a loan traveler. The road is long, and hard. Everywhere I look there seem to be pot holes. Some are small and a minor inconvenience, but others seem like huge craters, bottomless pits, that if you are unlucky enough to fall into them you may never surface again. I have spent two days walking down this road, on this trip. No one else is in site, no water, no nourishment. I drag with me a body that refuses to be moved~and yet I feel that I must get to the next turn in the road, over that next hill, through the next long night~so I continue to drag, to coax, to beg, and to demand it to move. What keeps me going? What possess my legs to walk forward, when the weight pulls so heavily on them? The only thing I can think is it is the hope of something around the next corner, over the horizon, or beyond the next sunrise. A cure perhaps, or maybe just the promise of a better day. I, of course, have much hope after this lifetime. But what keeps me going, tied to this earth, this torturous place full of pain, disappointment, and mind numbing fatigue? This is the question I have to ask myself today, and every day, until the road gets wider, easier, and less bumpy. What happens if it does not, I dare not ask myself.