Is it right to reach for the old thing? To commune with the watchful presence of stony tradition, echoing through empty halls? To wander through overgrown sanctuaries of a god who's moment has passed, listening for what still hums with resonance, digging for what's still salvageable + alive?
Or (and?) is it right to move with the tides meant to wash it all away? To step out into an unknown current, toward a distant horizon you can't yet see?
