We are asked to accept that we know not when we perish, nor do we know what we are born into upon death. We are asked to accept the values of others when they conflict with our values. We emerge from our mother’s womb a stranger- our whole story is written while we were in the warm heaven of that womb. Then the arms of our mother hold us and gaze upon a new life, a life whose days are written out for them by the power which holds our hearts in its womb, our bodies. The power which does not relent in its love, should we claim it.

My overtures toward peace have been dismissed through an over-written letter, the essence of which is: “I don’t give a shit,” and “my pain trumps reconciliation.”

I get quiet by the eastern water and consider what is in my power. And the question arises: “what do i really want to happen between us? Why do I call out to her?” I don’t have that answer- I only have the knowledge that God is leading me and the next sentence is in his book, not mine.