Sunday: Seeking Port

After a session of hard work, rough seas, rogue waves, tangled nets, high winds and minimal catch -- it's good to know that there is a calm port waiting for each of us at the end of the day.

Our ports all differ. They can range from a person, to a place, to God, and all points considered in between and mixed.

Sometimes our ports are slightly-lesser dangerous places than our exposed lives. Sometimes we just have to settle for "slightly-less dangerous."

We all have to lay our heads down at some point during a day.

We all need some kind of shelter from the storms outside.

Because the storms, they are so raging:

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

-Bob Dylan