Hestia, the Ocean, the Young, How They Grow

The great mother, the Ocean, Yemaya as some call her, cradles life tightly through the turbulent dream of first becoming, first popping into existence, stark, like a thought from the mind of a God. And into the womb of existence we are borne, yet still unborn, on the precipice of the decision of whether to live, to grow, to wake, to move...or to stay with our mother, blanketed by her love in that beautiful sleep of dreams of what there is before "is," dreams of potential that may, or may not, come true. This is the place of the bright light, the warm peace of ages—so what could compel us children to fly from this throne into the severity of life's great blue sky, screaming gulls, coarse sand between toes? Perhaps it is that different light that meekly breaches the surface, weakly refracting on watery things: curiosity—this is the ladder of light that we all climb up, that transforms without steps into a grand golden staircase aflame in our hearts. It is passion that gives us something to climb and reason to do so, we both build it and we go to our raison d'etre crystal steps; we goup its "why. by our