What say men, who find constant, the ripples of life so heavy that such weight would seem to crush them. When first he found solace in the darkness, the silence quelled sorrow and fear. What say he when he finds no comfort there? Where does one go then? What retreat is of avail to him who feels each beat as it moves his blood through vessels so taught that the pressure is felt in his fingers and heard in his ears? What escape does one have from his mind as the demons creep though the recesses of his darkness and grab hold of his hope and try to drown them in his fear? Where does one find a sword to fight a battle with whom he has no enemy except the lassitude and weaknesses of self? His fear is that this master craftsman will not be gentle enough, with each fold one becomes stronger. With each blow he stretches and becomes thinner. His hope is that this master knows when that final blow must come. He must know when one more fold and one more strike has weakened instead of strengthened. His hope is that when it is time to quench it does not warp in the slightest and above all that it does not break and become useless. Where must man search for such a master? How far must we travel to find one of such standing that we give no thought to failure? I contend that one must only look as far as his heart. We must look through the demons that are mounting for attack and find that one speck of faith that is residing there, being patient for us to find it. One must grab on to that spec and know that his master was good, kind, and just and has built it for a purpose. Its strength is from a thousand folds and its sharpness from being worked so thin that no armor stands a chance against it. Demons be weary for I have found such a master and I shall be bold. Enlarge my territory, for I am an instrument of good and shall stand at the forefront and take on any and all that try to bring harm.