Who do you call when desire gnaws and time stalls, indifferent to your desire despite the fire that inflames? What do you do when you’ve said your prayers (and a few swears) yet things remain and desire pains beyond expression? Have you ever experienced this depression, the kind that cuts, carves and consumes leaving nothing but more room for itself? Do you know what it’s like to spend your life waiting for the knife to be pulled from your back or trying to find a way to extract the desire that drives you on? If not, you can’t understand when greatness groans. On the contrary, you are apt to confuse its angst with an unwillingness to give thanks for all things. Perhaps this is true of some people. But there are those that, after they’ve exhausted gratitude, they still remain undone and prone to brood. What do you tell these? Do you have the words to ease what aches? If not, be thou silent in the presence of the great though they have yet to make their appearance or gain clearance to ascend as they intend.