November 1, 1973

One of the most vivid days in my life is anniversaried today. Ironic, after a fashion, that I should be, for only the third time in my life, not celebrating it appropriately.

But in my heart, I remember it all with stained-glass clarity and a charity to those for whom indifference and even hatred is possible when love falters, for in the altar of my soul, it lingers, forever.

For I believe. And grieve. And never leave a place without regrets.

And those who would believe less of me only do so because they cannot perceive the light as bright as they have spawned, and that is sad to me. So sad.

The dream of the three panthers was fulfilled. The Nosteratu's dream remains. The riddle of the three ribbons in the desert persists. And I am well, as well as any man adrift on a limitless sea with no horizon but hope. Hope as broad as the heavens at night on a sea of perfect calm and promise.