( Eternal Love ) What am I to do with knowledge which cannot be known? And since it is unknowable, what, then, am I to remember? Am I to memorize the totality of that which is indefinite? Is imprecision even possible to imagine? To lead from the flesh or flow from the spirit? Yes. It is a choice I make. It is a howling life that I alone conjure. It is a cry of existence I mold as my own. It is a belief that’s mine to accept, a paradise to open my eyes to. My being is separate from who I imagine I am. Faith is rooted in the unknown, telling me that I cannot know anything. Thought is meant to instruct. It is not a foundation of what is, it is a foundation of what can be, and what I imagine cannot be truth. Faith is the only knowable thing, aside from the charity that swims near the ribs and waits for the feet to begin their dance. My mission stems the tide if I allow it. My mission comes without a script. It comes with a pulse that needs attention, embraced like a child
(The Weaver's Song)