We give thanks for that which is given inside the tangible seeing of the holding of our sight. Both the known and the unknown gifts from a source vaster than the stretch of the imagination reaching for answers in order to know. Oh, but the glory remains hidden behind trees that thought cannot see its way, only the way of the soul searching for the highest form of being. The path is to be, and we are there sitting inside the layers to be peeled back that we might live the revelation of what is found. To seek is to find, yet with eyes closed do we encounter truth. Our hands tracing across life as though braille. There are messages. There are parables hidden along the waves of scrolls rolled before time touched time. What of the writing sets us free? What of the words create clearer the clarity of our clinging? We release in order to let go and see that all has always been even when the being so sharp and fast the way of sound that we think it not when it is. For that we offer ourselves in prostration. Face floor-ward and eyes set upon grace.