Thursday, December 12, 2019

I fear – therefore I perceive myself as having trouble. Yet what besets me, in truth? All my troubles are simply worry over what may be.

Here on this cushion, in this closet, I breathe and sit. No wolves at the door, no rats chew at me. I am safe, why do I not see it? How dare I see trouble amidst such gifts?

Lord, drop the scales from my eyes. I worry over illusion. Let me not squander your grace by seeking rescue from imaginary woe.

(Letter #1,797)