For me, a meaningful life is a quest for truth. As a kid, my mind wandered away from the classroom, out the window, and soared above the land around my elementary school in Stillwater, Oklahoma. These day dreams often brought me to the edge of a creek, deep in the woods, where I would take off my shoes and feel the wet mud between my toes. Inevitably, I would sense an invisible force watching me. The woods would become quiet. Instead of fearing the unseen presence, I would feel a sense of solidarity in its company. I was always on a the verge of communicating before getting pulled back to the classroom. Typically, the teacher had called on me and I was oblivious to the answer. My parents actually thought I was autistic or something. They took me to get evaluated. No diagnosis ever explained my mental trances. Needless to say, I was a terrible student. In fact, my entire education experience was miserable. I felt imprisoned for the first half of my life. Fast forward into adulthood. The transition has not been easy. My problems persist at the office. My mind wanders and wonders. What is the purpose of life? I bet if I could just think about it long enough, away from it all, the answer may come. Mostly, I hike alone now. Something calls me away. The solitude seeks me out. The lonelier a road or trail appears, the more familiar it feels. I am still looking to understand what hidden presence resides there. It still whispers to me. There are secrets to share. Whatever is there, it quells my soul. In the quietness, words and sentences flow forth. The experience is cathartic. Once again, I feel the wet mud between my toes.
Contemplating answers to the world around me is like approaching an impenetrable forest. There doesn’t appear a way through the green wall. Stumbling inside, branches, bushes and deadfall scratch my skin, block the way, sending me sideways. There is no animal like grace to my movements. Stumbling my way between and over debris of the mind, I look askance and something catches my eye. It is a break of in the pattern of the forest. A faint trail materializes. It is neglected, overgrown and un travelled. I divert onto it. Choosing a direction is easy; up the ridge. Occasionally, a stone cairn is placed next to the path. Someone has been here before. The marker is welcome for its reassurance and direction. What I find in my quest for the truth will likewise be stacked like so many cairns along the trail. Instead of stones, I will leave words and images. Case in point, my first book cover was chosen because it portrays a feeling of desperation, determination, weariness, fortitude, and, yes, providence. The lone hiker in the wilderness. The motion of his body is important. Head up, eyes fixed forward, the hiker appears a bit fatigued but fiercely determined. If you look closely, the hiker is weighed down by age. It has been a long journey. Yet, the body leans forward with swinging arms. The hiker knows there is still much distance to travel. There is no time to tarry. If you didn’t know, the character in my book named Lost Mungo is on such a quest. As you will find out, this character may die in person but never in spirit. Someone else steps picks up his pack and trudges on. 
It is me. I am Lost Mungo. I will hike for as long as I live in pursuit of my quest. Look for my cairns.