Someone to help me sleep...

He broke. He began to cry, trying to hide his face in the shelter of his arms, for he could not find the strength to turn over. One of the other men, the sick old one, came and sat on the side of the cot and patted his shoulder. He raised his head with his frail hand, looked him in the eyes and said: hope for this. Hope for the infinite opportunity and oppression present in every single moment. Hope for the suffering that comes with freedom. For the pain that comes from happiness. For the wisdom that comes from ignorance. For the power that comes from surrender. And then act despite it.

Only wild open plains...

Oh river, come and carry me,

until I return to stone,

brave winged spirit, guide us home.

Don't slip away, stray with me,

forever like sand and the ocean,

don't slip away.

And life will lose all its meaning...

I thought at the time it happened that I couldn't be horrified anymore, or wounded. I suppose that's a common conceit, that you've already been so damaged that damage itself, in its totality, makes you safe. That was when I also realised how difficult it is to undo our own damage, and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave. It is hard to desecrate a grove and change your mind. To cross a bridge when it's been burnt down. The very holy mountains are keeping mum. I doused the burning bush and cannot rekindle it; I am lighting matches in vain under every green tree.