We carry these books as frogs living in the pond of academia, pondering why we don't ponder enough. Asking what time is as a metaphysical question rather than asking how we could better use the short time we have. And as tadpoles we once were, we have grown into something far more poisonous, a type of zombie that drifts through night and day never paying creativity any of our mind though it is withheld within everyone of us who are in this pond. And in this pond is debris, touching the blackened bottom as those black letters connect with the roots of the Earth. These words aren't written by us, but vicariously through our own teachers. Like some sort of a crystal ball, here is Christopher Stuart who asks us to forget about those previous writings. This crystal ball speaks of imagination, and just like that, a wave of thoughts were drawn from my very mind to caress the air in a glowing space. Each wave oscillated and vibrated to it's own rhythm, not some other teacher's, but my own. Here each of us take the controls into our own hands rather than letting the CPU carry out our tasks, and we move our own thumbsticks to move and search until we are no longer in the pond, but rather, the land of freedom.