Giver of all blessed thoughts both helpful and cursed, our cravings eat us up; feed us a new way; for in our emptiness we acquire what is not our own and hold it close to what we think is our heart; and the pounding we feel is not the beat of life but the sound of our own steps running away from our chance to become holy. Amen.
Divine Deliverer, who brings down "something like a large sheet" filled with "all kinds of four-footed creatures and reptiles and birds of the air", a miraculous menu for all to consider, voicing from above the earthly table, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane,” send more of that sheet, as we failed, for the fourth time, to read your writing in the heavens. For upon its removal, the earthly author turned the dream of your holy arrangement into a disappearing act, even calling the dream, "the thing." Amen.