Sometimes, when the feeling comes upon me, I look up from this world of myself and realize anew, that in the place I stand in, many others stood and slept and worked, dreamed and died. The mist of memories, of strange lands and times unravels before my eyes, and the longing to know comes. How vast the knowledge and history of humanity . . . and my ignorance. My world, though important in and of itself, pales in the light of the incredible bigness of the world without. Why begin? Within we are depthless and without it is much more so. One life is not enough to learn all, no not even a thousand lives. And so I remain, unmoving, not content, yet seeing the end as a hopeless task and like a rock to stay thus.
Yet I will go on. For I am thirsty and I wish to somehow taste of the river of these worlds, its peoples, its past. I am afraid. To say that I am not is to be dishonest for what will I gain but a greater realization of my ignorance? Yet I must go. For to remain is to stagnate. I must search the rocky, windswept crags of myself and life and persons. And someday I will know why I roamed those lonely places.
Though wherever I go, no matter how rugged or removed, whatever secret trail or path I trod, I know that You have walked every place before and You wish to walk with and guide me. Any place You have seen. Every emotion You have felt. Any sea no matter how deep You have swam to its end. Since the beginning of time, You have walked these places. You created them and with your own hand you have searched them out.
And You wish to probe me, mind, body, heart and spirit, gently of course. When I yield trembling, You touch me awhile and when your fingers go, streaks of gold remain, like the streams curling down my cheeks, glistening in the pale glow of the dawn.
August 4, 1989