“…And what were we given? A promise? A promise to have what? To be what? To go where? I’m afraid it’s all but a desperate small attempt. We were given the grasp, ever so insignificant and pathetic. Yet we grasp. We run like wild animals through gloomy forests on fire, for a grasp. Even though we were not promised. It’s a shadow against a wall. We give our lives to it. And what for? For a promise that we were not promised? For a cold and fresh passing breeze through a hot and suffocating storm? To lie there in utter defeat after and let the crows pick our eyes that once sought and caught beauty straight out of our sockets? All that is not what we truly want. And what do we really want? I’d guess we want the real promise. To stand between two bodies of water that will never run out. To peacefully lie under the warm light of the sun in a cozy summer day in the middle of a field that is ever so green. To let light touch our bodies, saints and devils alike. To be astounded by beauty and wonder and never fail to be. To reach and actually touch something of worth. To stand in love and die in love, and never cease to be in heavens with the ones we love. To wander through valleys and deserts and kneel upon a stream and kiss the reflection of our being. To never swirl down into the belly of the beast, but to rise! Rise up! Always rising. Never despair! Always rising. Never to fall! Always rising. And when we do fall, to find hands made of feather to catch us. Always embracing. Never not facing our fears. To have, and to hold. To never live in cold. And to guard like worried angels from heaven’s merciful chambers. Never to break. To always give, and also take. To soar up through skies and skies made of glow and clouds and sit upon the throne that is sailing on water beside the tree of life, never sinking. And if we sink, to find new ways to breathe freely when we suffocate. To be free. To put the weight aside and hike up mountains upon mountains until we reach the steamy cosmos. To peak through, and see us born again anew. No need for storm or for thunder. We are all steamy hearts made of wonder. Ever reaching with the weakest grasp, never touching the fingertip of God. To never fold our hands to the chest, with beating hearts that take no rest. To never tire, and to live! To wake up early and watch life breathe into the morning with a gasp. To reach for more than a promise or a grasp.”