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There are those with bodies and without. Those without are air, wine, and the sea. They are the earth we stand on for support
and the solid patience for our step. Their purity is a loss of self. No cloud of dust fogs the mind; a particle of faith fills the oceans. Their hope is for you alone to join, as one forgotten.
Peculiar as we are, we are less charitable, lost in bickering sanctimoniously; a Pharisee in condemnation of us, who don't know what we do. How could we except in disguise? Who then will take it upon their shoulders, the heavy burden of repentance, to rest easy again on the shore of those without?