You need not look for God either here or there. He is no farther away than
the door of your heart: there He stands waiting till He finds you ready to
open the door and let Him enter.
And I miss Winnipeg’s winters, which any Winnipegger will tell you is ridiculous. Nonetheless, I miss the winter sun on snow and ice, the blue sky too cold for a scrap of cloud, and clear air like a healing draft so strong that too much will kill you. Walking in such weather is necessarily walking meditation, every breath sears with cold, every footfall in the snow crunches and squeaks. My expatriate sorrow is that the weather has become warmer and the government colder since I left.
Drive, drive in your nails, oh ye waves! to their uttermost heads drive them in! ye but strike a thing without a lid; and no coffin and no hearse can be mine:—and hemp only can kill me! Ha! ha!
Aye, breach your last to the sun, Moby Dick!” cried Ahab, “thy hour and thy harpoon are at hand!—Down! down all of ye, but one man at the fore. The boats!—stand by!
Your body conceals the God in you
This world is an enigma; happy is the one who solves it.