At least once in your life your faith will forsake you and, searching for it, you’ll get lost in a wild forest at night. If you settle down to sleep on the ground with your back against a tree, you’ll wake up at your desk at work and pretend nothing happened. If you choose to go on, feeling your way in the dark, you’ll start hearing direction whispered by the black foliage above: Trudge on with verve and guts; with a bold sweep of one arm feel free to track the north wind tuning it into a rainbow racing against a volcanic curve of the terrain; that’s the only way.
A half-assed try may do more harm, may cause cancer of the soul.
Not as easy as it looks, and not for just any kind of thirst; only the one that grabs you by the gut and pulls you to the well where belief stars dwell in a silent choir that you can scoop up with bare hands and smear on the sky with verve and a flying howl, swinging your arm in a flawless curve, the way a wandering cloud whispers the weather-beaten name of god.
Faithless? Go get lost!
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