I cannot change much of my circumstance, and often I feel blind,
feeling my way along,
searching for a way out of this vapor, but finding none—no key, no door.
To stop struggling would seem loss;
but perhaps it is surrender—that falling back—where freedom has full control.
I’m letting go—
Are You there just beyond my quivering night, my black heart?
I’m losing my grip—loosing my grip,
from my clenched fists the trinkets that have seemed so necessary.
Would that my shame would rise with this menacing mist.
Would that my security would come with this free fall of faith
that trusts grace
to catch up all the ragged pieces of a disordered life.
Oh, Wave-walker, let it be.