Lyle writes:
I am the Tishbite, Elijah, prophet of God.
Lyle writes:
I am the Tishbite, Elijah, prophet of God.
Lyle writes:
All is now clear.
All the streams of the past have converged. The way ahead is sure, but arduous.
The promise is ours.
Lyle writes:
At the summit.
In the presence.
Remove my shoes.
Sense others nearby but I only have eyes for the One.
The Ancient of Days.
Lyle writes:
Slept where I dropped last night. Awoke to the merry music of a mountain stream just yards away.
Drank and pressed on with renewed vigor.
Lyle writes:
The way is very hard, and I am so tired. I do not think I am much past the first hill.
How can I go on?
Lyle writes:
The trembling has stopped, and so has the forward motion of the wave.
Rather it has become solid. A mountain whose foothills touch the oasis, and beckon.
Lyle writes:
A low rumble brought me to my feet, but it was a momentary status. The following tremor threw me to the ground.
A mounting wave filled the horizon.
Lyle writes:
A sense of great relief and release floods over me. All must be well with Enough, wherever he is.
All is well, though the feeling grows – change is imminent.
Lyle writes:
The fountain sprang to life in the middle of the night and continues to flow and an overwhelming impression came over me that Enough was in trouble.
I am interceding.
Lyle writes:
The splash of the fountain brought me out of my revery. All night, all morning I have been slipping between dreams and visions.
More and more I see a glowing mountain.