We have all been there at one time or another. It is a place of grief, left unarticulated out of a primal fear of rejection. Like a crashing and pounding surf, unrelenting, unforgiving in its punishing waves, the fear creeps in and makes its way into the subterranean levels of the heart. And it remains hidden in darkness. Where do I begin? How can I even start to pour this grief into the container of words? Where does it come from? How did it begin? This desert of soul, so familiar to psalmist, philosopher, and poet- now mine? I am surrounded by a fellowship of ideas and books, bereft of the warm and welcoming clasp of unconditional human embrace. For many surrounding me place a currency on love, and gifts become the permission slip for entry into relationship. Money talks they say. And they talk of money. The competition of gifts and presents. I walk away feeling tainted.