You make my paths straight. Do you set me down upon the right way, or do you take my tangled skein of steps and stretch them taught? If I call to you, do you come to me — or direct me to you?
Is the garden I tend in the world, or in myself?
Lord, sitting on this cushion, without movement, I feel the world revolve around me. But I am the one who moves. Let me see my part, and become willing to play it.
(Letter #2,993)
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