On losing oneself, or the breaking and healing of the soul

 

              There is memory in every fragment. A fragment of paper, a fragment of history. Pieces of myself left behind, gifted to every place, every person.                     There is grounding to be found in the past, something to look ahead to, a hope promised. We wait.

 

O Lord my God,

              Take the work of my hands as worship to your name O God. Uplift my broken spirit and heal my weary flesh, for I yearn for your comfort. In my wanderings I will remember your name; I will not forget your faithful hand.               Guide mine, O my Lord.