Prologue

The land we tread is a mystery
And always there remains the eternal question
What can be the purpose of an existence doomed to flicker out?
Can it be that life is a mistake, and that death is right
For we are all equal when we pass before it
But our drive to live cries out the contrary.

Can it be, that if we submit to our destiny
Till the hour of our death, that we will learn
That we have been dead from the moment of our birth?
A book always has a last page, a moment when it is closed
And yet, without an author, or a story, there can be no book.

That is why, I ask myself if being the author of our own lives
Does not mean, that in some way we live forever
Making, sometimes, choices that no reasonable spirit could imagine
The One that will come to you seeks a path.

I send him to you for he yearns for liberty and an impossible selfless love
In coming to you, he must give up his struggles, his sorrows and sufferings
His pride, and even his need to be loved.

He must risk his life to finally live, so that others may know this freedom
So that he may become, Himself, capable of this unattainable love
Today, he took the kind of decision that no rational spirit could entertain
He accepted the Mission.