At a crossways I stood, the burden of Atlas on my soul. The distant church bells calling me to pray. Three ways to choose. The one toward salvation, in Christ and the house of Rome. The second toward obdiance and oblivion as a little boy of the "lady". The third toward a dark, dangerous path obscured with swirling clouds and unknowable peril. The ties that bind loosened and fell away as I climbed that mount. Out of this world and into the mist I paced with a tremble. Upon the summit amid the clouds I called my lady's name, and SHE came. With arms wide and eyes closed I received Her kiss and embrace. "Fret not my son/priest/hero in you I am well pleased". To the cross roads I returned. To take up that which truly matters and found it to be no longer a burden but the gift I longed to receive.