I'm sitting in the Hood River salt cave. One year ago I finished this project. I had five months box breathing with a respirator as I glued 260,000 cornstarch packing beads on to the walls.

I'm a maker. I made a cave. And now I'm scratching a tale while thinking: for thousands of years humans have transferred a story to someone in the future that they would never know. It's somehow built into us. It's somehow a call to adventure that everyone seems to get, but not everyone seems to fulfill.

The unction they feel is more than a "suggestion" or a "nice idea." The Call to Adventure we Makers feel is a sense of THE Creator's invitation to become more THROUGH the making of the "thing."

Yeah, it's akrasia. Knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. It's frustrating for some people. For others it's a whole life of dodging consequence, of lying or fabricating or making things up or being self-centered.

But for those that are authentic creators, you make something from an unction. You craft from a moment of inspiration. You mimic what you feel deeply inside.

C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien wrote with little validation from their peers, as did the Biblical writers, and I suspect the great majority of creative Makers — whether it's scratching a cave wall, building a model airplane, telling a story, or passing wisdom as a legacy.

Just as I look around and see the cherub wing on the wall in a 3D sculpture, or the basalt crystals hanging from the ceiling mimicking the Columbia River gorge, or the rocks all around the perimeter having come from Steve at his Stone Yard as a donation. Things come together that are outside of one's control when you're fully committed to making something. I think all makers know that.

It's part of what W.H. Murray said regarding full commitment to an outcome when there's no way back — that's when Providence gets involved.

So this article is the first proper test of the Intelligent Netware Lattice, where this voice recording is transcribed, researched across the internet for its long-tail SEO fit. Forrest does the intake, Arnie does the writing, Codey does the formatting, Syd pushes it out to the server, and in the middle there is Picasso who makes the imagery. So I've crafted a story pipeline. The cave itself started twenty-nine years ago.

And so the point of my story, I think, is to put this cairn with the polymath evidence as encouragement — that three decades is not too long of a wait for your vision.

And that it starts with the story you tell now, using your voice, scratching on the cave wall, telling someone in the future that you'll never know that they shouldn't quit. Just as Glenn Douglas told me why the butterflies flew with me. Don't quit. Tell your story. It's that important. As a maker, you know that. Following the way I began.