Can we sift through the dust and clay to find motivation for today?
I am the little maiden in your eye can you be the deep passion of my heart?
As long as my heart is content making mud pies in the ghetto I will still be blind.
I have no strength in me to change and no desire to move.
This stone in my chest weighs me down.
I am the tin man no counterfeit will do and no mystics no philosophy nothing immanent will remedy this rock. We hope for the living something we can not see, can not hear,
can not feel so we have misplaced life for death and there is nothing in us to see the difference. For from him and through him and to him are all things, stone becomes flesh and death becomes life.
You cannot see but you will not see.
The wind is surrounds you though you do not feel,
the wind inside of you and is ripping through your chest, but you ignore.
It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers, who are we to ask where the wind blows and why it whispers through the tree to us? Land me safe on Canaan's side, bid my anxious fears goodbye.
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