When the captain calls to pull anchors aboard the ship of the moment, only then can we charge any storm of the starry night and hold it all the same. Suffering, hate, lies are all mended by tying together the torn echoes of horror we call memory and see that is a great perfect beauty.  Our maps predict immeasurable suffering and hateful untruths among jagged edges without form, but our own image tells us this, so that we may proceed with courage.  

Vigilance is required to withstand the bearing of this moment and move infinitely through this sharp rocky passing. Torn to shreds, battered and bleeding we leave a trail of gore for others to follow.  The stench of death is unappetizing and the more who traverse, the stronger it grows.  Soon the scent will linger throughout civil houses and nurseries such that none will escape the eerie call.  Lured like flies they walk through the crime scene forced to witness all they couldn’t bear before.  It is time.  They are skinned and cauterized.  Flesh for flesh. At the cool stony edge of the door, they look upon themselves and see nothing is left.  They hoped for gold perhaps but have no hands to hold it.  They hoped for love but there is no company.  They hoped for truth on God but there is no one to call upon.  Yet all is laid bare and understood.