On the ninth (9th) of November We will effect closure with our thoughts of Scott Thornton. In the meantime, we are progressing. Questions: Is the Room comfortable? Do you need help bringing Posts over? How do we expand yet improve the Society? ALL Comments welcome. Thanks

I – The Cry of the Little One You have called me Little One. You have made known your presence— many a time, and yet, I speak to You now with a weight too deep for words—no, for my very being. Why now? Why not then? II – The Invitation to Unburden You say: “Make way. Lay bare.” All fears, doubts, anxieties, unmet desires. Leave them with You. Retain nothing that imperils the soul— that was never meant for me to bear. But why now? I have called out before. III – The Seduction of Despair Despair’s voice persists. It offers a trade: a compromise of integrity for temporal gain. It whispers: Consent to this bargain, and certainty shall be yours. But is such certainty freedom? Do I even know what I want? Can I name my desire without mimicking the world’s hollow norms? IV – The Accusation Against You Despair accuses: You are against me. You reject me. I need only examine my unmet longing— the love unanswered, the ache unfulfilled— to believe You care too little to do anything. Where are You if not in the love that meets me? V – The Breaking Point and the Shadow's Edge The weight—unbearable. The pain—paralyzing. My mind scattered like leaves in wind, my heart in ruins, a weeping thing. My soul, bewildered, asks where it all went— left alone before the shadow’s edge. Will it break, as others have? Can the soul die like the body? Was despair, in the end, telling the truth? Is that all that’s left of me? Then— a presence, unmistakable, enters. Familiar. Older than memory. Known before knowing. VI – Nearness of You, the Gift A balm, soft and sovereign— the touch of a king in the mud, not above the mire, but in it. A call: “Speak—not less, but more.” You were near—closer than breath. “Give me all that binds you,” You said. “Leave nothing of your burdens— not one sorrow, not one chain.” Your love did not end in command. It offered no platitudes, no certainties, no condescending truths wrapped in tidy moralism. Instead—faith came. Not conjured, not earned. Given. A call sounded: