King wrote about Ka being a wheel in such a way that anyone who followed the gunslinger knew it was cyclical. I did not like all seven of the books, but those that spoke to me did so in strong fashion. There are 4,250 pages in all, and each book reads like an epic; each story could stand on its own–but then we would not see the full scope of Roland’s quest. King wants us to appreciate the full circle, even though it is painful at times. He kills a lot of darlings, and sometimes parts of us go with them.

My dream is not to write thousands of pages. I want to leave a crater in just one strike. I do not mind if I have to gather energy for months. The act of completion would be more than enough to warrant the investment. If I would be fortunate enough to revisit the site of impact and expand the effect, that would be more than I can imagine at this moment.

I delved back into the Law of Vibration and positive energy and reframing thinking and dozens of similar somewhat DIY-centered schemata, but I am wondering how many people routinely realize the futility of daily enterprise, only to explore surface-level alternatives and then eventually slide back into the same passive routine. I’m guessing the numbers are impressive. How many times I have done in the last several years is not something of which I am proud.

On the drive to and from my day job, I think about the brilliant energies of the people in my life for the last twenty years, and most especially, the last five. Not all of us are artistically talented in traditional senses, and not all of us are able to pursue passions, but not one of us wanted to succumb to routine. The great defiler. We didn’t shelve our imaginations just to become consumers.

I think that I have kept thinking that passion alone will carry me, as it has certainly directed me more faithfully than just showing up. However, the signs show that lasting peace or something approaching satisfaction requires dedication. For most of my adult life, my dedication to self-improving or any type of evolutionary cause has wavered, to put it mildly. I have no excuse for this, other than weakness of will, and a disappointing disposition to submit to stress. Some days I cannot allow myself to spin the Wheel at all. I get up, halfheartedly engage in Sisyphean tasks, commiserate with other pushers, and the days pass.

Sometimes we get a rare opportunity to burn it down, though. Currently the days are passing, and certainly the challenges are never-ending, but now we can help each other glimpse past the boulders, and–behold: how much of us we left out there. I have counted suns for too long, and I rarely watch the moon.

As the year’s last, loveliest smile finally stretches for us, let the Wheel turn again.