As a lost dog on the edge of a sidewalk timidly approaches first one passerby and then another, uncertain of what to ask for, taking a few embarrassed steps in one direction and then suddenly veering to another before being able to ascertain what reception her mute entreaty might have met with, puzzled, lost, miserable, ready to slink back into her inner confusion at the first brush with the outside world , so your aspirations my soul on this busy thoroughfare that is life. What do you think to gain by merely standing there looking worried, while the tide of humanity sweeps ever onward, toward some goal it gives every sign of being as intimately acquainted with as you are with the sharp-edged problems that beset you from every angle? Do you really think that if you succeed in looking pathetic enough some kindly stranger your name and address and then steer you safely to your door?
And there is no use trying to tell them trying to tell them that the touching melancholy of your stare is the product not of self-pity but of a lucid attempt to find out just where you stand in the fast moving stream of traffic that flows endlessly from horizon to horizon like a dark river. I know that the pose could be some other one, joyous or haughty, or whatever. It is only that you happened to be wearing this look as you arrived at the end of your perusal of the way left open to you, and it “froze” on you, just as your mother had warned you it would when you were little . And now it’s the face you show the world…


(Child Roland approaching the dark tower and every energy concentrated toward the encounter)