You mock yourself, when you do not uphold your own ideals, like the fool, who does not walk the talk. Patiently, you try to succeed, only to fall down a rung or two, on Jacob’s ladder. Do you dare to go where angels tread? Or reach the heights of Icarus? O mortal man, if you cared more for your eternal soul, rather than for the clay vessel where that soul is placed, you would do well.
Spinning around, like a lump of clay on a Potter’s wheel, slowly being shaped into something new, a cup, a bowl, a saucer. You are being molded by the potter’s hand, despite your failings; as the saying goes, may your failures be the bridge to your success. How many times can a lump of clay be remade, until it is finally shaped in perfection? Yet, you have only one life, to live, to permit the master craftsman’s hand to guide you.
Sailing on the wind,
angel wings, close to the sun;
ride the air current.