Same Ending for All

Dorothy Day

Always when I waken in the morning it is to a half-dead condition, a groaning in every bone, a lifelessness, a foretaste of death, a sense of “quiet terror,” which hangs over us all. A sense of the futility of life and the worthlessness of all our efforts. It is, as one of our retreat masters said, as if we rowed a fragile bark at head of Niagara Falls and all our efforts are to keep from going over into the chasm below.

[A favorite painting of mine (by a dear friend) is that of a small human in a small boat, heading out to a great, great sea. What you notice in looking at it closely is that the person has released the oars overboard. Yes, in (or as) a small, fragile boat, we row as strongly as we can, aware or unaware, that the head of the Falls is just around the next bend, where our strength will become weakness in the face of the real situation. We are going over that Fall, and when we do, all attempts at steering end.]