It’s all a becoming, a not arrived yet. This glory-quest life is transit and trajectory. How then to stretch, a trembling filament, between one adhered branch and the intended other, extended, intending to connect and spin that cocoon.

Faith cultures are complex. Shoot, faith is complex. But simple. Yet multi-faceted. And greater than ourselves and doesn’t require our selves. But yet they do, and so much of us. The paradox spins in the wind, a world stretched between branches.

What ghouls of windy doubt trouble the caterpillar in their nesting? What forces compel them despite these doubts? What if they defuncted and ignored the compulsion to spin in faith? What if, once in their cocoon, they crazed with claustrophobia before the formation of wings? What is it to risk the in-between, a trembling filament in the wind?

The phases of change stretch within me, stretch before me. I am trying to stretch with courage.