When I am driving to Greenbrier Parkway from my house, I look over the water at the Great Bridge Bridge and think about ways to die. Soldiers lost their lives at that bridge via bullets. At the top of my list of ways not to die is thirst. I have been thirsty and the animal urge to drink from the toilet just to quench the thirst is real. Dying of thirst would have to be the worst. Your tongue swelling until you no longer can breath from your mouth and then your kidneys failing seems an undesired form of agony if agonies can be chosen. Lately, I have been dying of spiritual thirst. My soul seems flaky and dusty from lack of absorption. Almost as if the water that I feed it runs off my emaciated soul like water off glass. You can see the water sitting on the glass. The glass is wet for a time but nothing ever penetrates it. Keith Green wrote an apt description  ”My eyes are dry, my heart is cold.” No plants would grow out of the soil in my heart nor would weeds. Desolation exists. In hopes of seeking better irrigation, I need to take out a pik ax and start slinging down into my soul trying to form slim cracks in my cynicism and hopelessness so refreshing water will seep in. AH