Along the way I stop to see
If I can find the why of me
The "who am I" that's deep inside
The real me that tries to hide
But out I peek so you can glimpse
Now and again, just by chance
The curtain slips, defenses down
And for a moment, there I am
The who, the how, the why of me
To all but God, a mystery.
Ask the animals and they will teach you, or the birds of the air and they will tell you; or speak to the earth and it will teach you, or let the fish of the sea inform you. Which of these does not know the hand of God?