My hiding place.  The wonderful sigh, as I rest my wearied head upon the stone warmed by Your Presence.  Acquiescence without regard for failure.  Hardened to wind, shackle and fire, prepared for the coming storm laying my soul bare.  Every weakness, every perfectly constructed sinew, stretching beyond the physical boundaries of science.  Designed beyond specification, made for real work.  The kind that leaves its life upon the mountain, yet stands in renewed spirit to go forth and bring others to the forge.  There is no question, certainly not of You.  Lord we will simply “do” when You ask it from us.  There is nothing left of that man, no flecks to chip away, no flesh to adhere ego’s anchor.  A vessel, a ship, a carrying case for the spirit of a man who will reside in peace, work and relationship with You.  Oh, forever’s dream, forever’s dream.  I pray You, at last.