The Hermit

I am a child of austerity. I have burned my books so that I am forced to sit in contemplation.

In the olden days, they called this "being a fool for God." I find food when I need it, and it nourishes me as I need nourishment. I walk the hills alone at sunrise and sunset, when the tide of the sky is changing. My skin and the few clothes that I have are a distraction.

Who truly knows what it is to contemplate and struggle? I have only this small candle of faith to light my way.

The animals lie near me as I sleep, and the snakes crawl over me. I am part of the landscape.

Who knows to read the things that are obscured in the shadow of our hearts? To live in this cave is only a virtue for some. But I know my place. This darkness has no absence of light.

Who knows the secrets? Who knows the struggle? The struggle is not a battle to provide us with fuel for feeling self-righteous.

Who is with god? None of us is truly with god. I am alone.

I am an old man, but a young woman. Sometimes I walk the path just to have my feet somewhere.

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