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Bryan Miller's avatar

We are captives to interlopers in the vineyard, so to speak. As a metaphor for our consciousness, we reside in a rickety cabin in the wood, the buffered self. The walls permeable to the whistling winds and howls of the night, we warm ourselves at our small hearths fearing a terror that prowls the wood will pass us by. But who approaches the cabin door? Is there a knock or a Destroyer?

Perfect Love casts out fear. It may serve us to step out into wood, girded for the journey with spiritual armour, to venture a walk on the wildside. Trred some paths with our feet, curious to the rustle in the brush, maybe feed the hungry, comfort the imprisoned, offering a drink to the thirsty, and declare good news to the captives. Maybe? CS Lewis, Tolkien and George MacDonald took us there once. Do you we

remember?

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