To Loading My Pack (second letter)

I’m reminded that property is a lie — that wealth is too often defined by grotesque falsehoods and unacknowledged violations.  What we do starts from this.  We serve a struggle for self-possession.  This is all we can hope to have and we proceed in knowing it’ll never be ours to keep.
Our engagement is like a staging of meaning, an anticipation of historical action that recognizes all else as folly.  There’s no expectation of permanence.  The eternal, here in our communion and all we prepare for, demands it.
I’m given clarity in discerning wants from needs and fortified in never weighing myself down unnecessarily.  We are trying, always, to reach what is essential, to live well and rightly with the time we have left to us.
I suppose we won’t (can’t?) stop until we’re dead, so I’ll write again of course.