by Danny James
All this incessant preoccupation with productivity. To be deified of harmonising many errands, an unrelenting metabolism for busyness ever striving and dissatisfied. Success, that mountain with heights supposed upon the climber depends. From what desolation would you escape if arriving at a higher tier of achievement you take the same cold unfulfilled self you brought from the valley? What sits at the summit you have not? How few who reach for the top have filled their depths with the Sunlight.