Five years of life faded away, five years already a misty haze.
Waves crashed over, forced me to my knees, and I arose, sputtering and coughing, my vision blurs from the salt in my eyes.
We bless the rain, when it washes salt away. Mist lifts and clarity comes. And the rain continues, a drizzle at a time.
And most of the waves, illness, death, betrayals are the way of life, certainly.
Learning comes: illness common; health uncommon. Death universal; life fragile. Loyalty scarce; betrayal certain.
Five years. Pains accumulated. Troubles multiplied.
The sculptor hammered away the crystallized salt. Not all, but some. And the chips scattered the floor, pierced my feet as I struggled forward.
The core is revealed, but if I wash into the sea, the salt clings and must be hammered away again. Perhaps not as difficult as the first hammering and yet painful still.
All are on a path. Some never find their way home. My way is easy to find. It lies along country roads. And the blue skies beyond, the white clouds lifted high, ripe with cleansing rain. The rain we bless.
For it reveals where our treasure truly lies. Not in places it can be snatched away by eager hands.
It lies within, the core left when the hand lays the hammer down. Treasure comes in this world but is not of this world.
The hand that holds the hammer beautifies his sculpture to adorn the heavens, where the clouds reside.