I have ceased fighting. The rain falls across the land and the crops grow for friend and for alike.

Lord, let me love those whom I would hate.

(Letter #2,101)

The cool mountain air fills my nostrils. I am the running stag, the hunting wolf, the powerful bear. Master of the forest as I roam.

How ill I serve you, Lord, in this mania. I misuse my capacities, reveling in strength and self-sufficiency. I work, yet only under my own terms.

If I am to be your perfect instrument, Lord, let me marry power and care. Which burdens shall I carry, which trenches dig, which frail ones rescue?

Make my strength gentle, Lord, and my steps measured. Walking in a meadow of wildflowers, let no trace be left.

(Letter #2,100)

I already pity myself for the woe that may arrive next season.

I should be filling the cellar, yet I grumble as if the shelves were already winter-bare. How will I survive until spring? I worry, and autumn has scarce begun.

Lord, let me be generous with what I already have. The winter will arrive and leave. I have lived through each previous one.

Tomorrow is illusion, Lord, let me live today.

(Letter #2,099)

The candle does not battle the gloom. It shines and the darkness recedes.

Rain does not battle drought. It falls and is taken in by the wildflowers.

I cry out for strength, yet need none.

Let me be a flame in a world of ice, melting rigid hearts.

(Letter #2,098)

Before I ever cry out, or beat my chest in woe, you know of my troubles.

Before I beg for relief, my belly in knots, you know of my fears.

Before I fall to my knees and ask forgiveness, you know of my trespass and remorse.

Why, then, do I perform displays of submission? Let me give thanks that you are already removing stones from my path.

(Letter #2,097)

Sunrise, solitude on a mountain ledge, apart. Visions were delivered in the night. The vista hums with energy.

Lord, I will walk down to the village and there meet my fellows. In my time away, the chores remained undone and the garden became choked with weeds. As I greet my neighbors, will I be proud of my visions, or ashamed of my shirking?

Let me be close to you without the need for dizzying heights and fasting. You were next to me all along, and I could have found you with my spade in hand.

(Letter #2,096)

I awaken. At day’s end I will rest. Why, then, do I worry over the course my path may take? My neighbor’s day holds the same fate. I wring my hands over what obstacles I may encounter, what calamity may befall.

Lord, it has all been preordained. My choice consists in how near is my relation to you.

Improve my reliance on you, dear friend. Let me not attend to where the path goes, but instead to how I walk it.

(Letter #2,095)

You leave but do not abandon me. I am left to stand on my own feet and experience the capability with which you have graced me.

The parent looks with satisfaction upon the child who walks alone for the first time.

With this sturdy back and strong legs, Lord, where would you have me go and who help?

I will go there.

(Letter #2,094)

A leaf falls, a downward spiral. Water spends into a drain.

Why do I fear one direction over another? You protect me in the lowlands equally as among the mountain peaks.

Let me bring your light to the places under the bridges and behind fences. Blown, the dry leaves float up as naturally as they fall.

(Letter #2,093)

Plagued by agitation, I stalk the grounds.

My desire will be returned as ashes.

My fear and woe is trance.

Resentment a weapon turned on myself.

Where, Lord, is your friendship? How have I drifted so far over so little time?

Let me desire your will today, dear friend.

(Letter #2,092)