In conclusion, I go up and away to a place by myself, to be with myself and be for myself, until I need again to be more than myself, and for more than myself.
For better or worse but in faith, only better. Not everyone should be carried, not everyone can, not everyone wants to be. To be carried is to yield to the carrier, it is to trust that the wind and waves lead you better than you lead yourself. I do yield, and most times this means not knowing. Life is a journey and a destination at all times; to yield is to rest when planted, to move when driven. No, it is to rest when driven, to move when planted. To feast in the presence of enemies, to be asleep in a storm.
How do I begin? How am I justified in my life? What of when I feel upside down, made unfamiliar by the wind and the waves? Who guides me places I do not know to go? Who sees what I cannot perceive? To whom is all that is above me, beneath? In whose hand do I exist beyond my limits?
