It had us setting aside bullshit. It had me weak in knees. It had me in the presence of a master. I think of resting in weakness, but I do not. I am a light, a leader. Love wants nothing to do with me. It scatters me like smoke. I am like a feather, at the mercy of the wind. The wind is merciful. It tells me a story. It looks me in the eye. I am no longer a feather. I am a bird that cannot fly. There are others who share this deep loneliness. Contact with them is like communion. My spirit is weak, it hears but does not listen. The dream ends with master giving me food. A third of my plate is meat. I question it. I am encouraged to let go of my childish care. Blessed is the man that provides for the village.
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