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fit and spiritual voyager
Age 54 From Carson City, NV -
Man Seeking A Woman | |
Basic Information
| Self Description | | Reticent, physical, sensual, athletic, tactile outdoor spooner who enjoys; prospecting, gardening, rollerblading and hikeing with his grandson ... and biking with the dog. I am presently seeking fit, slender, verbal feminine woman who enjoys the ebb and flow, the surrender and tenderness. I'm a traditional type of guy who sometimes "takes the road less traveled", sometimes takes the beaten path. Sometimes I like to walk hand and hand, and sometimes I do not. Often, whenever I get the chance, I listen to the rhythm of the tapping rain, tapping gently upon my window pane, sometimes hard sometimes hardly at all. Then comes the shivering of the thunder's refrain and I realize in the mystery of a moment not often understood, that I'm with the one I love, commingling with the rain's rhythm tapping upon my window pane, is her whisper, whispering my name. She has pulled me from a sea of restless souls, where I have circumnavigated the eddies and undertows, much like the crimson nail of a palm reader navigated the lines, but hasn't discerned what hearts come to harbor after a voyage out to the rim of the sea. Out there, in the archipelagos of "fare the well", a man cast a wreath into the sea, where his daughters have perished aboard the S.S. Ville de Havre. From deep sorrow that only love can comprehend he composes a hymn. Writ'ten af'ter this the great Chi'ca'go Fire of Oc'to'ber 1871, which ru'ined him fi'nan'cial'ly. Short'ly af'ter, while cross'ing the At'lan'tic, all four of his daugh'ters died in a col'li'sion with an'o'ther ship. His wife Anna sur'vived: Her tel'e'gram, 'Saved alone.? Sev'er'al weeks lat'er, as Spaf'ford's own ship passed near the spot where his daugh'ters died, the Ho'ly Spir'it in'spired these words. They speak to the eter'nal hope that all be'liev'ers have, no mat'ter what pain and grief be'fall them on earth.
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When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
...Though my search is foggy, I am persuaded that, that place exist. If you are a voyager, a searcher and believe that if it was not so, he would not have pressed your hope, then light your lamp with a low spoken prayer, that i may grasp a bearing and sounding, that may draw me near. |
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