-Story 1

The door opened with the ring of a bell and the four of them walked in, first, second, third, and fourth.  The hostess asked if they preferred smoking or non and the third replied, "Non, thank you."  After a moment she led them into a room to a booth by a window that looked out to the parking-lot through a wall that seemed freshly plastered only by this table.  In the booth next to them sat two women and a man enjoying a cigarette.  Other than that the rest of the tables and sofas in the room were empty, though some looked as if they had been used recently.
    "I do not know what I am supposed to do now that I have finished school.  What should I do?" said the first with a wretched look on his face
    "Shut up! No one cares, Arrogance.  As long as you are true to the system we will be happy," responded the fourth with a contemptless passion.
As they talked a tall, thin busboy came into the room and started busing tables.  He wore a busboy's apron but underneath was what appeared to be a fine mortician's suit.  On the apron was pinned a nametag with square letters that simply said "FIRE".  The busboy move from table to table in typical busboy fashion with no noticeably exceptional swift speed.  But after sauntering over to each table the busboy called Fire did what would amaze even the most talented and skilled of jugglers.  As if a starting pistol had been fired somewhere in his head, his upper body would move at speeds that it appeared as if he were some sort of multi-armed Hindu god.  This seemed to last no more than a full second, at which at the conclusion of the previously dirty table appeared wiped clean and the previously scattered dishware rested in the busing-pan held by the busboy which he had never set down.  This happened at every dirty table and the third noticed it but she never mentioned anything about it.
    The busboy called Fire came to the four's table, quickly bused it, saying as he did, "Welcome to the International House of Pancakes.  What do you want to drink?"
    "Are you our waiter?" asked the second as he set beside him a book titled Defining Your Spiritual Beliefs that he had been looking through.
    "I am the busboy," responded the busboy called Fire flatly.  "What do you want to drink?"
    "Where is our waitress?" the third inquired further.  The busboy called Fire shot him a glance and for a moment all was still but for the low chuckling voice of the man with the cigarette at the next table.
    "I'd like a water and some crepes with strawberries and powdered sugar," quietly said the first, breaking the silence.
    "Don't be an ass," the busboy called Fire scorned.  "If you want breakfast food go to a breakfast restaurant"
    "It is too late for breakfast any way, Hopelessness," said the fourth to the first, nodding her head out the window to the moon sitting a head above the top of a large truck in the parking lot.  Turning to the busboy, she asked, "What types of beer do you have?"
    "We have a wide selection of beers on tap.  Many are from around the world but of course we have the finest Asian beers and some good old home Venezuelan beer," said the busboy called Fire in a manner not quite his own.
    "I hope your children die of cancer!" whispered the second under his breath.
    "We'll all have pints of Newcastle," said the fourth before any of his friends could interject.
    "It doesn't matter.  I'll be right back," responded the busboy called Fire dryly.  As the four continued to talk, he set down his busing-pan on a spare table and walked across the room and smoothly caught a cook who suddenly fell through the kitchen door.  Setting the cook up and pushing him back through the door, the busboy returned to the booth where the four where already in the midst of conversation with the third making a point.
    "The core of who you are guides the path of your life," said the third
    "That's ridiculous, Deception!" exclaimed the forth.  "There is no self.  There is no future.  There is the past but the future only extends beyond the present to the next decision we'll have to make."
    "My fate is perfect, my destiny is complete," interjected the busboy called Fire. "There is no decision for any of you."
    "How can you say that? Don't the decision I make affect my life?!!" purported the first.
    With a look of annoyance at the last remark, the busboy called Fire swiftly stepped to the side as a large truck came violently crashing through the wall and window so perfectly square to the booth that it was as had been aiming for the ketchup at the center of the table.
    Later on the door opened with the ring of a bell and the four of them walked in, first, second, third, and fourth.  The hostess asked if they preferred smoking or non and the third replied, "Smoking, thanks."  After a moment he led them into a room to a booth by a window that looked out to the parking-lot through a wall that seemed freshly plastered by only this table.  In the booth next to them sat two women and a man enjoying a cigarette.  Other than that the rest of the tables and sofas in the room were empty, though some looked as if they had been used recently.
    "I do not know what my career should be now that I have finished school.  What should I do?" said the first with a wretched look on her face
    "Shut up! No one cares, Confusion.  As long as you are true to god we will be happy," responded the third with a contemptless passion.
    As they talked the tall, thin busboy with a "FIRE" nametag with square letters came into the room and started busing tables.  He wore a busboy's apron with a fine mortician's suit underneath it. The busboy called Fire move from table to table in typical busboy fashion with no noticeably exceptional swift speed.  But after sauntering over to each table the busboy called Fire took care of his task at each in an astounding manner and speed.  This happened at every dirty table and the third noticed it but he never mentioned anything about it.
    The busboy called Fire came to the four's table, quickly bused it, saying as he did, "Welcome to the International House of Pancakes.  What do you want to drink?"
    "Are you our waiter?" asked the fourth as she set beside him a book titled Finding True Friends that he had been looking through.
    "I am the busboy," responded the busboy called Fire flatly.  "What do you want to drink?"
    "Where is our waitress?" the third inquired further.  The busboy called Fire shot her a glance and for a moment all was still but for the jingling of ice in the glass held by the women next to the man with the cigarette at the next table.
    "I'd like a water and some crepes with blueberries and powdered sugar," quietly said the first, breaking the silence.
    "Don't be an ass," the busboy called Fire scorned.  "If you want breakfast food go to a breakfast restaurant"
    "It is too early for breakfast any way, Anger," said the fourth to the first, nodding his head out the window to the sun sitting a head above the top of a large truck in the parking lot.  Turning to the busboy, he asked, "What types of beer do you have?"
    "We have a wide selection of beers on tap.  Many are from around the world but of course we have the finest Asian beers and some good old home Venezuelan beer," said the busboy called Fire in a manner not quite his own.
    "I want to shoot you in the face!" whispered the second under his breath.
    "We'll all have pints of St. Pierre," said the fourth before her friends could interject.
    "It doesn't matter.  I'll be right back," responded the busboy called Fire dryly.  As the four continued to talk, he set down his busing-pan and walked across the room and easily caught a cook who suddenly fell through the kitchen door.  Setting the cook up and pushing him back through the door, the busboy called Fire returned to the booth where the four where already in the midst of conversation with the third making a point.
"The core of who you are guides the path of your life," said the third
    "That's ridiculous, Identity!" exclaimed the forth.  "There is no self.  There is no future.  There is the past but the future only extends beyond the present to the next decision we'll have to make."
    "My fate is perfect, my destiny is complete," interjected the busboy called Fire. "There is no decision for any of you."
    "How can you say that? Don't the decision I make change my life?!!" purported the first.
    With a look of annoyance at the last remark, the busboy called Fire swiftly stepped to the side as a large truck came violently crashing through the wall and window so perfectly square to the booth that it was as had been aiming for the ketchup at the center of the table.
    Some time later the door opened with the ring of a bell and the four of them walked in, first, second, third, and fourth.  The hostess asked if they preferred smoking or non and the third replied, "Whatever's available, thank you."  After a moment she led them into a room to a booth by a window that looked out to the parking-lot through a wall that seemed freshly plastered by only this table.  In the booth next to them sat two women and a man enjoying a cigarette.  Other than that the rest of the tables and sofas in the room were empty, though some looked as if they had been used recently.
    "I do not know who I should be now that I have finished school.  What should I do?" said the first with a wretched look on his face
    "Shut up! No one cares, Pain.  As long as you are true to us we will be happy," responded the second with a contemptless passion.
    As they talked the tall, thin busboy with a nametag that said "FIRE" with square letters came into the room and started busing tables.  He wore a busboy's apron with a mortician's suit underneath it. The busboy called Fire move from table to table and took care of his task at each in an astounding manner and speed.  This happened at every dirty table and the third noticed it but she never mentioned anything about it.
    The busboy called Fire came to the four's table, quickly bused it, saying as he did, "Welcome to the International House of Pancakes.  What do you want to drink?"
    "Are you our waiter?" asked the third as he set beside him a book titled Understanding Your Constitution  that he had been looking through.
    "I am the busboy," responded the busboy called Fire flatly.  "What do you want to drink?"
    "Where is our waitress?" the third inquired further.  The busboy called Fire thought, "These enviable fools ask for Prometheus who they have driven to suicide?!!" as he shot the third a glance and for a moment all was still but for the cough of the women across from the man with the cigarette at the next table.
    "I'd like a water and some crepes with peaches and powdered sugar," quietly said the first, breaking the silence.
    "Don't be an ass," the busboy called Fire scorned.  "If you want breakfast food go to a breakfast restaurant"
    "It is too late for breakfast any way, Questionable ," said the fourth to the first, nodding his head out the window to the parking lot.  Turning to the busboy, he asked, "What types of beer do you have?"
    "We have a wide selection of beers on tap.  Many are from around the world but of course we have the finest Asian beers and some good old home Venezuelan beer," said the busboy called Fire in a manner not quite his own.
"Without you my life would be worth living!" whispered the second under his breath.
    "We'll all have pints of Gambrinus," said the fourth.
    "It doesn't matter.  I'll be right back," responded the busboy called Fire dryly.  As the four continued to talk, he set down his busing-pan and walked across the room to catch a cook who suddenly fell through the kitchen door.  Setting the cook up and pushing him back through the door, the busboy called Fire returned to the booth where the four where already in the midst of conversation with the third making a point.
    "The core of who you are guides the path of your life," said the third.
    "That's ridiculous, Shame!" exclaimed the forth.  "There is no self.  There is no path.  There is the past but the future only extends beyond the present to the next decision we'll have to make."
    "My fate is perfect, my destiny is complete," interjected the busboy called Fire. "There is no decision for any of you."
    "How can you say that? Don't the decision I make affect my future?!!" purported the first.  "You have to remember self-will."
    "If only you were right," thought the busboy called Fire with a look of annoyance at the last remark, and against everything inside his being he swiftly stepped to the side as a large truck came violently crashing through the wall, window, and table so perfectly square to the booth that it was as had been aiming for the ketchup.

-Story 2

            At this time, the large truck came violently crashing through the wall and window so perfectly square to the booth with the four people that it was as had been aiming for the ketchup at the center of the table.  After the moment of chaos, the waiter and the hostess surveyed the gruesome scene.  The large truck sat uneasily where the booth had been, half impaled by the wall where the window had been.  There was no movement or noise coming from beneath or inside the truck other than that of the engine dying.

HOSTESS: Well, there goes your tip!

PROMETHEUS: I hate you.  That joke wasn't funny the first million times you said it.

HOSTESS: Hey, check it out.  This time it's those hogs in the truck.  I guess you'll get you bacon-burgers on Wednesday after all.

PROMETHEUS: Yeah, but making that B.L.T. is already pointless.  Oh well, maybe I'll just make it for myself. (to READER: more likely he will just use the carving knife to slit his wrists.)

            With this he dragged the hogs out of the large truck and into the kitchen as the hostess started to sweep up the window's broken glass.  The man at the next table simply continued to smoke his cigarette.

THE END

-I was suddenly inspired with this today while reading some commentary on Romeo & Juliet:

Life is me in the wind, struggling to stand. 
Early on and for a long time, I was continually beaten by the wind, downtrodden with a face alongside its tears in the ground. 
But eventually I became strong, a man of iron, able to stand firmly, securely, solidly as winds from various directions and origins crashed into my being, unmovable like an ancient monument in a sandstorm. 
Then the wind that was you came with a weight and verve that I had yet to have known and threatened to sweep me away to no one knows where.  And I was fearful because I longed to let you carry me away, not knowing whether it was better to stay or let go. 
But I loosened my chest's grip on my heart to let you have it and you swept it away. 
But my body was not taken with it, for I had hoped my body would follow my heart into the wind.  And it left me like a B-movie shotgun victim, a great hole clean through my chest where the heart should be. 
And I stood back up, for your cardiectomy had knocked me down from my stance.  And although when I stood I was able to stand with more stability and less effort in your wind, your wind faded to nothingness and winds come no more at all to challenge my being's stance. 
But I am greatly vexed by the great hole, for though there is no longer any wind being felt upon my body, there is the same tempest that carried off the heart being sensed upon the hole's boundaries, a constant and continual agony. 
More so, the hole vexes me because through it I must be losing blood, for the stalwart legs I have away stood on I feel weakening and my sight is unclear. 
A heart should not go where its body does not follow, though it can never be wrong to truly love. 
Oh God, have mercy on us all!

     I have for quite a while been trying to write down in detail the story of what God has done in my life, which ultimately is the testimony of my existence.  I think our own existences as humans are really the only thing we have worth sharing with each other and the only thing we really are able genuinely and honestly to share.  I have found this writing very difficult as there are an astounding number of things unclear to me as I examine the details.  Thus, while I may at some point give a more detailed elaboration of my life and how I think God was involved in it, I would simply like to speak of the things I am completely sure of.  By completely sure of I mean only 100ænbsp; If I am only 99 ure of something with the slightest possibility of doubt, I will leave it to a more detailed life story unless I state it as speculation.  Because of this absolute standard of accuracy, I will be limited in subject matter to the only thing I can truly be an absolute authority on, that is, myself.
     From a very young age I have been unhappy due to the feelings of a present and ongoing weight of misery relating to a Creator I fear and that doesn't really care for me, my well-being, or my happiness despite any pleading from me.  Though I was taught about some religious schools of thought while I was growing up relating to a God and various ways he really does care, these really only helped for me to be functional in society. 
     Deep down I have only and always wanted annihilative oblivion, nothingness, free of the even the imagined possibility of more Bad (evil, pain, misery).  Because truly I havent ever been able to believe any idea that any sort of Good (perfection, paradise, holiness for a God or creation) balances out or justifies even the tiniest shred of Bad anywhere.  I tried to make myself believe there is nothing beyond what people think and sense and that nothingness is possible, but I simply knew this wasn't true the same way we can sometimes know someone is in the room despite waking in a the quiet, dark stillness.  So in life, while I have experienced periods of happiness and joy, what I really wanted was to have some never-coming peace from my constant terror.  And this was my life!
     The great turning point in my existence was at a lonely point when my sadness, misery, and terror had reached the point of crushing me beyond death and there was NOTHING to be done about it.  And someone came to me and held me and the peace that was never-coming and that I didn't even believe existed anymore came and I wasnt crushed and I survived.  And I could see that someone more clearly that anything my physical eyes had seen and could hear him clearly despite no harmonic vibration hitting my ears and felt him more than any force that had ever touched my body.  I knew he was THE God who had created me, and he told me, "Don't worry, I am Jesus, I am here, take hope!" and gave me hope, which is beyond my imagination or description.
     I know I am able to live, die, and generally exist because of this hope coming from Jesus, who no matter how alone I now get always turns out to be there beside me holding me.  He is the most real and true thing touching and talking to me that there is in my plane of existence.  I am sure that either I am a severe Schizophrenic with no vestige of knowledge of even myself or else that Jesus is real.  He is more essential to my existence than oxygen and hydrogen.  And I speculate he is what is missing for everyone else because I am sure of the effects that knowing him would have on anyone. 
     There are a lot of thoughts in the world about whom and what God and people are and how they relate to each other, and some of them I believe and some I dont.  And there are a ton of things about Jesus I have no idea about.  Life isn't easy.  I still fear that Good cant justify Bad and tremble at the thought of a God I honestly don't and can't seem to completely understand, but the hope I have in Jesus's love making it alright is real.  This is what I know!!!

COMMENTS WILL BE DELETED

Today I bought this vintage 1971 Honda CL350 Scrambler... need I say more!!!

Yesterday when I went to a psychiatrist for a preliminary (key word) evaluation for Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I had the pleasure of the surprise of finding out it was going to cost me nearly $300 dollars (3/4 my monthly salary) for the hour (of which my insurance only pays 70% normally).  Then, after making me late for work by keeping me long, the psychiatrist (who has never met me before) give me a sure diagnosis of Type II Bipolar Disorder (which may be true from what he explained), and wants to start me on a program of psychotherapy and mood-altering drugs (some of which he quite literally just throws at me).  Then upon hearing that I won't have medical insurance anymore in two weeks, he tells me that if he bills the insurance then I won't be able to get new medical insurance down the line because his diagnosis will count as a "pre-existing condition" and if I don't want that to happen, I should just pay him the full bill all right away so it doesn't go in the insurance records.  When I ask for a copy of the diagnosis report (that normally goes to other doctors and the insurance) for my own records, he acts like I'm crazy and tries to tell he it would take several weeks for him to make a copy of the 5 page report he just printed out and I shouldn't worry about it (which is making me paranoid).  So all in all, it seems I was late to work, lost a ton of money, got a life-changing-for-the-worse diagnosis, and can't seem to even get a record of it without lossing a ton more money.  That's right, I win for most crappy day, losers!

How quickly I forget that you can't spell THERAPIST without RAPIST!

I went and saw Mogwai in Denver on Wednesday and it freggin' rocked for two reasons:
1. First of all, in the THOUSANDS of live concerts I've been to this was the only time I have become genuinely concerned during the show that the band would rock the house down and I would be crushed to death by the ceiling. Seriously.
2.Secondly, Mogwai confirmed a long-running theory I have had which is this:
Them Scotsmen love them some Texans and we Texans love us some Scotsmen!
How was this confirmed?!!  Of all their beautiful equipment and instruments, Mogwai had no decorations, markings, or stickers on any of it except for the lead singer/guitarist who had three things on his guitar: a Scottish flag, a Hibernian Football Club (their home soccer team from Edinburgh) player, and a freggin' "DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS sticker.  Damn, do I love those sweet Scotsmen!

P.S. Word to my friend Jessica, who saw her first club show last night!

I have been thinking a lot in the past week about my life in terms of where I am to go in the broad sense and what I am to do occupationally.  This is a struggle that as time goes on has seemed to get more and more difficult ever since I gave my life to Christ.  Don't get me wrong, I believe God is sovereign and I trust my Lord to work all things for good in the path that my life will take but that doesn't stop me from questioning my own motives and decisions.  This is especially relevant to me right now because this week I found out that the ministry I work for here will not be requiring me at my current position beyond the next month.  I did not apply for any of the advanced, more permanent positions in the ministry though I was practically asked to, and so this means I can go back to Houston come summer which I am very excited about. 
So here arise all my soul's questions. 
Why don't I stay more permanently with this ministry?  I think deep down I'm really good at this job and have a lot to offer by working with it more permanently.  Though honestly I get very little joy out of it and don't like the view of my life, personally and spiritually, that I see resulting in me doing it further.  Should my joy in it or my feelings even matter if I trust my Jesus with my life and have promised him my everything?  I think doing what is not easy glorifies God and brings us close to him.  I seriously want to do whatever will help me get closest to my Lord, because in that sense I truly am a Christian hedonist.  In that sense, am I wrongly putting myself before others?  Are my motives bent?  I wonder if God is trying to tell me things like where to live with subtle signs like my health or friendships that I am not picking up on.  I have been amazed over the last several months with the way God has provided people to love me outside of my work community (which I very much needed).  I try to be an asshole so people won't get too attached to me but somehow I just can't be jerky enough for them not to love me.  Some of these people have even arranged it so that they could offer me good jobs so that maybe I won't move away.  As someone who would say that I have fought epic battles with deep levels of loneliness, I understand the magnitude of grace I receive through this blessing of truly loving community.  Am I abandoning brothers and sisters God has called me to feed by my leaving Colorado?  Am I abandoning and belittling the community and the kids I've ministered to by my leaving Colorado?  Did I abandon people back in Texas God had called me to minister to and care for when I came out here to do this work?  I won't pretend that all my decisions are always steered by the highest motives I can comprehend at the time - a lot of the time it is things of my own desires like wanting to be with my niece and nephews or more time to go to concerts.

Plus, this all ties into my questions I have of God's will for my personal life.  In this I mean the goals I allow or move toward in terms of community and specifically a significant other.  Those who know me well know that at around seventeen I received a very clear calling to singlehood from the Lord and as a result of obedience to that calling received for many years extraordinary peace and blessings in my relationship with the Lord, especially in that area.  What is lesser known is that around the beginning of 2004 the Lord removed the peace about my singleness from me and ever since I have been trying to figure out through various decisions (some good, some bad) what God is saying to me through this.  Is it just a test of my commitment to the celibacy calling if the peace isn't there?  Have I screwed up the calling too much to where I might as well abandon it?  Has the calling for my life changed and if so, what is the new calling.  Some friends of mine in a rather successful band voiced it best for me in a song called "At The Moment" that has the lyrics, "Is the vision lost? Or has it been passed on? Is there any use continuing?"  Each different answer has a drastically different course of action for me with its own set of new questions to address for each. 
How can I call myself a follower of Jesus (God who left heaven, God who became man, God who gave perfect unity with His Father to be like us) if I am not willing to sacrifice everything about me?!!
Dear Jesus, forgive a wretched sinner for begging more mercy, please grant me clarity!

I went and saw this movie last night with my friends Brett and Matt called "Thank You for Smoking" that was awesome.  It was hilarious and I strongly recommend it.  It is a satire about how sleazy tobacco lobbyists are, but I think it is more about using and enjoying the talents you have.  It has an incredible cast and is from a young writer/director Jason Reitman (Ivan Reitman's son) that I'm gonna start watching closely.
The funny thing is by the end of the film I just kept thinking about how long it had been since I had a pipe or cigar and how much I wanted one!

O.K. most people know that my current job doesn't afford me much time to do cool or fun stuff, but I've managed to do two cool things in the past couple of weeks so I feel like talking about it. 

First of all, about a week and a half ago I got to go to Denver with my pal Lindsay to go see Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins in concert. It is the first big deal show that I have gotten to go to in Colorado that wasn't involved somehow with my friends. Oh, how I have missed goin' to shows, having a beer, and just being a snob by mentally critiquing everything from the venue and crowd to the sound guy and the set. And, most importantly, just enjoying some music I really like. Jenny Lewis was great by the way (I always forget just what a tiny woman she is!). She really played up the country western gospel element of her music, which just gave the show a great personality. Plus, her band was all top-notch musicians and performers, including this one guitarist who didn't sing on the album but had a really distinct low, twangy voice that added a lot to the live songs. I figured going into the show that there wasn't really enough material on the album to headline a show and, as expected, they played a lot of unreleased stuff in addition to almost the whole album. What I didn't expect though was that all their unreleased songs were their best stuff, particularly one titled "Jack Killed Ma". But it was great to just get to go to Denver with a bud and do something normal and fun and far away from Dale House.

The other cool thing I've done lately is go to the "Real Sex: the Truth about Chastity" conference in town this past weekend. It was about Christians discussing issues surrounding sexuality and spirituality as it pertained to chastity, marriage, singleness, the church, and the culture. I saw it advertised at the seminary where I take classes and really wanted to go because its main speaker was Lauren Winner, one of my favorite living authors who wrote a book with the same name. It just happened to fall in my off-duty time but I knew I couldn't afford it so I called to ask about scholarships, and since I didn't need overnight lodging from the conference they let me come for a third of the price. It was a lot more interesting than I originally expected. Firstly, it at Glen Eyrie, a retreat center that I didn't even know was there but had a freggin' castle and was very mountainous but moistly forest-like and protected like someplace in Narnia. They gave us a lot of time between lectures and discussions to walk around and the place was just gorgeous so it kinda felt otherworldly. Secondly, it was only about fifty people big, with the vast majority being in their 20's and 30's with a few older or younger but all with a lot of diversity in terms of life and spiritual experience (though there were a lot of us youth workers). I think this really helped the discussions to be interesting. Lastly, Lauren turned out to be sharing the speaking bill with a guy named Doug Serven from the University of Oklahoma. While I enjoyed hearing Lauren (a mousy little woman who kept reminding me of a quieter version of my friend Cohen) speak, most of her lectures were pretty much verbatim from her book which I had already read. Where I was really blessed in an unexpected way was by a lot of what Doug (a Presbyterian [my father would be so proud] campus minister with a monster wizard-gottee) had to say. While the vast part of what everyone was lecturing on and discussing was mostly academic, Doug reminded us that only in Jesus is there a solution to all our struggles and baggage. He explained that Christ's blood is sufficient to cover not only our sins but our scars, which is something I have presently really needed to hear. I become jaded as I forget that while I chase a perfect savior in my often painful and damaging journey, that my perfect savior's journey to redeem me was damaging and not a perfect experience for Him, thus giving Him His own scars.
I'm not big on posting poetry in blogs, but I think I'll share this poem we heard, titled "Hast thou no Scar" that nearly had me in tears as I went home from the conference.

Yet, as the mast so shall the servant be,
And, pierced are the feet that choose to follow me

Hast thou no Scar?

No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?

I hear thee sung of mighty in this land,

I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,

Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?

Yet I was wounded by the archers, spent,

Leaned me on a tree to die, and rent,

By ravening beast that compassed me, I swooned;

Hast thou no wound?

No wound, no scar?

Yet, as the mast so shall the servant be,

And, pierced are the feet that choose to follow me;

But thine are whole: Can he hath followed far

Who has no wound nor scar?