Suffice it to say, like many of old, I too experienced the healing influence of Jesus Christ on the shores of the Sea of Galilee.
I committed to myself to learn faith through raging tempests.
And I lived the entreaty,
I can't paint and I can't play the violin, but I'm pretty good at feeling, and I can pray. "Pray always"! What a gorgeous invitation.
I can write too. I feel like a poem is forming inside, but can't gather up the right words to work its way out of my psyche. I can write poems, but perhaps I'll never be a poet.
...that's a sad thought.
I'd like to found out who I am so I can discover what I can be, you know?
But it's nice to just sit on my little rock here, no immediate obligations but to periodically swat off the wicked biting flies. Just encasing my spirit with wordless prayers, trying to build up an immunity to pride and selfishness and forgetfulness and temptation, so I can retain this handful of heaven for later, lonelier days.
...When I'm not reaching enlightenment on the shores of Galilee
to transcendent violin music and an ethereal sunset,
descending like a dove
to give me a warm and reassuring kiss on the forehead.