Imagine a stretch of road not too far from home. Hilly, and a little winding. Empty, but just enough to not seem barren. Narrow, but wide enough to let a car pass you by. An old tree blocking the road, as if it stood its ground while the road was built around it. Picture yourself riding your motorcycle in all your millennial glory. Throwing caution to the wind, almost literally. You feel the breeze as it brushes against your bare cheeks, drying away some tears that rolled off. Maybe this is what joy feels like - an almost synchronous alignment between moments, with no thoughts in between. You smile at these fleeting moments as you zip through the road, changing gears and steering through the uneven contour. You reach the temple at the top of the hill, the flag on the temple's mast fluttering in full glory. Disembarking, you say a silent prayer for moments like these - where your past doesn't matter...