folio

Some of my friends are angry with me, dispatching lengthy emails voicing their dissatisfaction. I know I should be hurt and offended, but instead I find myself thinking that this is just the voice of the Divine, revealing itself through His creation. I could compose great tracts in my defence, but I fear it would be futile. My friends, no doubt, have legitimate gripes, but it is the anger of my Lord that concerns me. Yes, I have been a fool of late, hurtling off once more towards oblivion, and my Lord witnesses all things. Is anger not His right? The friend rails against what they see—or what they think they see—but with the Lord of all the Worlds feeble petitions such as mine carry no weight, for He knows both the inner and the outer, the hidden and the seen. How much better to be called to account by friends, causing a moment’s discomfort and then reform, than to awake on a Mighty Day to witness one’s utter downfall? With the last of the epistles comes not a rush to pen excuses, but instead to return to my Lord, prostrate. Alas, the call to foolish things is strong, pulling hard from within. But in the fallible words that call me to account are the echoes of my state. So slowly comes the acceptance that there is only one path for me. Struggle, I tell myself reluctantly; struggle in His Way.