As the different streams
Having sources in different places
All mingle their water in the sea,
so, O Love,
Thy different paths which people take,
Through various tendencies,
Various though they appear
Crooked or straight,
All eventually lead to Thee.
Come to your death as an angel to wrestle instead of an executioner to fight or flee from and you turn your dying into a question instead of an edict: What shall my life mean? What shall my time of dying be for? What is it going be like, that cottage of darkness?