Vacate your box of comfort and you find yourself under half of the infinite. The small shines of millenia old, within the swaft of the ignorable void. Silence to you, though the only destination, as if destiny. Pursue them, add them to your comfort box, and find it lacking still. Venture on repeat, witness the light once bathing kings since primordial time. Take others on your boat, birth more and more heaven, instill clues to the clueless. Husbandry of beasts so called for cultivation, Husband turns to Father. Navigation to those in the warm but colourless comfort box, miserable and unknown without retrieving ancient fires unyet found. The greatest of risks is not to brave them. Hercules stands not as divine, simply fueled by the power of Father who was the son before him. Who is the God of Gods? Be greatness subservient to ever greater? then greater still? Primitive as we, unable to answer, but only Ascent WILL answer. and Ascent for sake of Ascent need be understood, even at the sacrifice of logic, though logic persist in the illogistic. The pure answer is conquest of stars, regardless of obtainence. Why? The Tarantulas answer 'Exactly, come to my comfort box, cease questioning' like Oedipus. Key to the word of 'Question' is 'Quest' after all. No quest, no climb. Stagnation of water, sickly infection spreading not just in the forsaken water, but to Fish but to Elk but to Peach but to Oak but to all Earth and all siblings. 

The Father is Shepherd, pointing to the portal, in a landscape ever changing, but always the ground is made of truth and real. Walk with the untired shoes of the predescends. Entropy, the universal inevitable, is OPTIONAL to the humile. 'Humility', 'Human', no coincidence in association. Partly bow to the old. Partly critical of the new. Choose with wisdom what you add to your ever growing comfort box.