I wish I was just standing on the edge today, but I must say that it feels more like I'm running.
Peering to the left I see the cavernous depth drop below, like the gullet of a hungry monster opening for a gulp.
Run, run, running I am from everything I thought I used to know; is this the place to where, with the wind, I'm blown?
Any more force and over the edge I shall go.
Oh, to have wings on my ankles, I'd fly through the sky with the wisdom of hindsight.
I want to tell my story without someone else holding the pen; I want to jump off of this ledge without the darkness below; I want to fly high but not to burning heights.
I want to be free, but I'm not Icharus,
so maybe I'll put out my sails and find out where the wind will blow.
"The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit" (John 3:8).
(from Dan Lowe)