THE VOICEI know you can’t see me,But you are a part of me.Like that finger on your hand,Only bigger.Through you and with you,I am living and growing,Learning,Expanding,And having fun.If you think you’re alone,You’re wrong.I’m here in your eyes reading this with you.I’m there,Sitting in your seat with you,Experiencing your surroundings.You’re not alone.I’m not alone.Together we are one,Yet we’re separate and complete in ourselves.With me,We will continue to live together,Apart,And united.When you need something,I need it.When you fear something,I’ll fear it.When you dream of something,I’ll dream it.When you make something,I’ll make it.Because I’m connected to everything else there is,I can orchestrate great things for you without your knowledge.You call this coincidence or fate when you see it.It is neither.It is simply me making things as you and I want them to be.You think the future is already determined.It is not.It is how ever you and I make it.If it were already determined-I would be like a tape recorder,A hologram.I assure you I am neither.I am as real as the oxygen you’re breathing.You don’t have to believe me.I’ll still be here.You don’t have to say hi either.But it would be cool if you did.I love it actually when you do.We’re much like parent and child,Only closer,Because you are an actual piece of me.I can do anything through you-If only you will let me.If you are unwilling,Then I will simply work my magic through someone else.As long as you’re willing though and doing your part,I’ll work through you-And together we’ll live and excel in ways that will not only amaze you,But me as well.Let’s create!

And it was in that moment of distress and confusion that the whip of terror laid its most nicely calculated lash about his heart. It dropped with deadly effect upon the sorest spot of all, completely unnerving him. He had been secretly dreading all the time that it would come - and come it did.Far overhead, muted by great height and distance, strangely thinned and wailing, he heard the crying voice of Defago, the guide.The sound dropped upon him out of that still, wintry sky with an effect of dismay and terror unsurpassed. The rifle fell to his feet. He stood motionless an instant, listening as it were with his whole body, then staggered back against the nearest tree for support, disorganized hopelessly in mind and spirit. To him, in that moment, it seemed the most shattering and dislocating experience he had ever known, so that his heart emptied itself of all feeling whatsoever as by a sudden draught.'Oh! oh! This fiery height! Oh, my feet of fire! My burning feet of fire...' ran in far, beseeching accents of indescribable appeal this voice of anguish down the sky. Once it called - then silence through all the listening wilderness of trees.And Simpson, scarcely knowing what he did, presently found himself running wildly to and fro, searching, calling, tripping over roots and boulders, and flinging himself in a frenzy of undirected pursuit after the Caller. Behind the screen of memory and emotion with which experience veils events, he plunged, distracted and half-deranged, picking up false lights like a ship at sea, terror in his eyes and heart and soul. For the Panic of the Wilderness had called to him in that far voice - the Power of untamed Distance - the Enticement of the Desolation that destroys. He knew in that moment all the pains of someone hopelessly and irretrievably lost, suffering the lust and travail of a soul in the final Loneliness. A vision of Defago, eternally hunted, driven and pursued across the skyey vastness of those ancient forests fled like a flame across the dark ruin of his thoughts...It seemed ages before he could find anything in the chaos of his disorganized sensations to which he could anchor himself steady for a moment, and think...The cry was not repeated; his own hoarse calling brought no response; the inscrutable forces of the Wild had summoned their victim beyond recall - and held him fast.("The Wendigo")