Each day is so long, a little eternity in itself, but an eternity of disbelief and nearing despair, of forlorn hope and lack of loveliness, a long night when my face is shut, and my mind is involved, and no one knows, nor can I say, what this is, borne within me, a new self, uncreated, belonging to You, a stranger here.
Here, where there is no explanation, I exist. Here, in silence, I am. Here, before you, I stand. Here, I bow. I am.
Breaking the hermit door was fun, pulling down the wood, wearing away the hearth, hurling myself against its strength. The door held for a long time. Then, a crack appeared. It became a chasm, letting in light, and openness, and hope. I waited patiently. The door shuddered. It died. I lived.
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