You know that pain you are in? Stand back and you will be amazed.

So I awoke, restless, as always at four.

And holding my small cup of boiled coffee, I turned to the last section of Till We Have Faces, and many hands came from behind me and tore off the veil–after it, every rag I had on.

The old crone with her Ungit face stood naked before those countless gazers. No thread to cover me, no bowl in my hand for the water of death, only my book.

And I closed the pages at the last word and stared at the silence.

And wondered at the peace.

When the red-lit clock radio clicked on in all of its fuzzy glory.

 Take it all take it all

All to Jesus I surrender, I surrender all

• • •

'Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

And whoever read this story before me highlighted one section in florescent green, the heart of the matter: When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about the joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?

And rest has such a different sound now.

The sounds of silence.

The snare is broken, and we have escaped.

Selah.