I walk upon the path of Life.
At my right hand there is the Mist.
And at my left there is the Brook.
The people of this world occupy both the Mist and the Brook.
And they are all crucified.
Some in their crucifixion spread wide their arms.
And like an eagle unfolding his wings, they embrace the winds of their pain and rise above them.
They rise above the storms, above death and life, even as the mist rises from the rushing currents and hovers serenely above the waters.
Others give in to the currents of life and travel to wherever they may lead them,
whether to the heights of the Wondrous Mountain or to the depths of murky waters.
These are of the Brook.
They surrender to life as an autumn leaf relinquishes her weight to the wind.
But of the two I know not to which I belong.
For I am only a dewdrop upon a leaf and a flower.
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