Years ago I humored you, and we set off in your car to Anaheim for my first brush with mysticism, your kind of mysticism. For me, it was merely an adventure, but for you a sincere belief and something much more. As we entered the house, I took inventory of the surroundings sensing this was everything I expected. The fates, so arbitrary for some, had consistently smiled on me filling my life with love and goodness and I couldn't help thinking that tempting destiny a dangerous notion. This trip was a concession to you, my friend. That and my curious mind wouldn't be denied. So, I sat there, on the couch and listened to the story as it escaped her expressionless face, eyes closed, seeing what we could not. It was then that she told me of my strength and how it would best manifest itself. She advised I should live on a hill, with a mountain to my back, facing west towards the sea. I remember this as I stare out the window of my kitchen, in this house built into the rocky hillside that faces southwest, and I take a sip of fate.