And I said to the one who stood at the gate of the year: "Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown." The reply: "Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That will be to you better than light, and safer than a known way."
Even now, I am becoming
wind, something less flesh, more
movement, more current, less
here, more everywhere. Though
the moment I think I know this truth,
the knowing re-solids me,
makes me into clay that pretends it is wind.
But becoming clay again, I am destined
to crumble, disintegrate, until
I am dust and once again one
with the wind. How to trust anything
then, except this infinite becoming and
rebecoming—and whatever
it is that is alive inside it all.
That. I put my faith in that.