Consider the special season just passed. That divine eruption which comes and changes everything. Spurts forth and wipes the slate clean, laying to waste the cities of sin, inviting us to walk anew in skin of old. And yet, with fresh starts come new obstacles. We have not yet reached the City of God - all towers must be built from the ground up, and all the more for mortals like us; mere embryos born untimely. So from these molten re-origins we dive into gelid lakes, penetrating deep in our eternal moment of desperation, we strive to grasp that wooden cross, that symbol of our suffering and that symbol of our salvation, and as our head breaks the surface, that first lung of freezing air slices the lining of our lung, in that instant, clearer a day than ever there is, we know, our condition, what it is, to be.