Flying at the end of all I know, again

Lately I have saying that I am at the end of all I know, again. At that point, I know that all I can do is pray. It is not always the get down on my knees kind of praying. Sometimes it is the let me pray before I walk in the door kind or the let me pray before I take this phone call kind. I have many other types, too. The help me change my attitude, the I hope I lost weight, the please let my computer work right kind, and the list goes on. I pray lying down, sitting up, driving, running, and any where else when the need arises.

Right here, right now, I am once again at the end of all I know. This time my prayer did not have words. I could not find any to say. I did not know what to pray for. I just sat in silence. Nothing was particularly wrong, but nothing was particularly right either. It just was. I just was, again, at the end of all I know. When I am here it always manages to work out, whatever it was. It will again this time I am sure. I am just not there yet. Maybe in the morning.

Have you been there? Do you ever see the light at the end of the tunnel or find the needle in the haystack?

A dear sister girlfriend gave me this a long time ago, when I was say it with me AT THE END OF ALL I KNOW for the very first time. Actually, it was probably the very first time that I could acknowledge it. It certainly wasn't the very first time I was here. I carried it in my wallet until one day it just wasn't there. And now, it will have a place on my bathroom mirror.

When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.
Edward Teller