When I was young I looked around for my Master. My Father wasn’t there. I started to read, it became my Master. I spent most of my early life in libraries searching through words believing they were my Master.

There came a day when I tried drugs and I believed that I could find my Master in them. I struggled for twenty years, finally realizing they had become my false Master. It took me a lot of pain to throw off that yoke.

I also tried exercise. The control of my body and weight seemed to be the way to the Master. Suffering injuries, and a recalcitrant mind. I pushed through to get one more lap, one more kilometer.

I am sixty three now, soon to be sixty four, overweight, struggling with sex as my latest imposter. All this time I haven’t been willing to accept that I am my own Master. If I take responsibility for my actions and am humble enough to give a shit about my own value. Do what I know is going to give me the best chance to live in peace, and except that, I will have become my own fatherly Master