The world is covered in fog tonight. It feels so good. My spirit has been hiding. Every thought in my mind hurts like the pain that stings your eyes when a bright light is turned on in the dark. Lately, even the moon hurts my eyes. The fog is welcome. Brokenness covered. It feels like a fracture held by scar tissue. It only hurts when I breathe. Breathing quieter seems like the answer. The airborne water, warmed by sun, meets the cool of night and becomes a blanket. Thick enough to keep hiding. And so I do. A window before me with a clear view of blurred Christmas lights and black tree branches. A soft, red blanket. Tea in a beautiful new mug. Children sleeping. Once I am alone, I am met with myself. The audience of reflection demands my attention. I finally succumb to the questions forming and find I have no answers. Discouragement and despair seem like viable alternatives but they do not join in. I am guarded. Something is guarding me. I feel I am working toward a goal. My struggle is protected. I am a physicist wrestling with art, a scientist not knowing how to paint. How much control do I need? How much control does it take to let go? Does opportunity invite itself or do I have to send an invitation? So I fling open the doors–the boundaries of my heart–and search. Who is this elusive guest? What am I searching for? It is not notoriety, wealth, or even necessarily fulfillment. It is purpose. It is contribution. It is concrete, stable, heavier than stardust, gifts to the world. What is my purpose? I am messy and lazy. Easily dissuaded by reality. I am continuously reaching for a goal and it is continuously moving farther away. And I realize I’m not even sure what the goal is. What is my purpose? Another hour is gone. I fill the canvases in my mind and place them in a corner with the others. The dissonance is not resolved. The notes ring out still with pleas of resolution. I have never felt this out of step before. And yet I feel my heart might already know something my mind is unaware of. Something beautiful and new. Something dripping with hope. I feel there are secrets preparing to be unveiled. I am a watchman. I am ready.