Sharp like a razor but with a much keener edge which is able to separate good from bad, bone from flesh, night from day, neutrons from protons and further to the point of dividing those things which most people can't even conceive such as space from time. This blade is wielded by a Loving Intelligence which guides every thing from the time which flowers bloom, snow falls, geese migrate, stars shine and most noted for the loving way He guide the great dance between life and death which makes nature in the arctic so pure and wonderful.
The days have changed and summer went away like turning off a switch. I have had a fan in my bedroom window to keep things cool enough for sleeping in arctic grade sleeping bags bur recently moved outside to sleep where the morning dew is transformed to a crystal white cover of frost. I know what is coming and like everyone who lives here, they understand it as the unstoppable wave of the deep arctic freeze. Mind are getting ready for the time when the sun disappears from the sky, things that were fluid during the summer will become solid a rock and remain that way for 9 months; items that are flexible will be turned into material which is as brittle as dry twigs and plastic will crack and crumbles like egg shells.
This whole process is part of the exceedingly sharp edge of a process that will divide the East from the West for they were not meant to meet here in this world of corruption, family degeneration and moral decadence that heaven can't touch. In this process is a mind trying to grapple with the dynamics of a process not much different than a man in a small boat in a stormy dark ocean whose body grows weak under the pain of broken bones and vision burned from freezing cold salt spray as he tries to carry a life saving serum for a disease ridden people on a land in the deep stormy night. As the stinging spray causes him to lose control of his sail and rudder, the rise and fall of enormous ocean waves occasionally brings the sight of a faint beacon held up by a group of children waiting on the coast for his boat to arrive.
The numbers of people dying from the monstrous infection is incomprehensible and the man loses more strength as he begins to consider his efforts and mission are all in vain due to the thought that he his trying to accomplish the impossible. Falling to his knees in the bilge he prays to his Father above for wisdom and help; grasping to the vestige of happy memories the gains enough strength to pull himself up onto the old wooden beam that stand in the center of his boat. The words from Father come to him and he grasp the rudder with his broken right arm and hold to the strong wooden beam that sways in the great ungulates ocean.
He remembers the words, “Who touched me for I can tell that virtue has gone out of me.” For joy that over comes the pain of broken bones and failing sight he realize that it isn't’ his responsibility to see to it that the masses are relieved from the consuming disease because those who have the ability to see this miracle occur are already waiting for a touch from his Father who alone can affect such a miracle.
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