Sitting still, in tranquil air, storms rage through me. Fear, elation, despondency, joy, frustration, eagerness. Not a leaf has stirred to cause it.
I wrack myself with disorder. Lord, grant me equanimity in the face of this tumult.
The storm will pass, and my neighbor will have seen nothing.
Here, while we sit: soothe me, dear Lord.
(Letter #2,544)
Daily Letters to God 