The law of gravity duplicates itself on a wide scale in every sphere of life — spiritual and physical — in the form of limitations, in natural borders and in man-made borders.

The winter draws a border around the summer and limits the exuberance of the season to a tailor-made space that slips cheerfully in between autumn and spring. Everything has borders, and everything comes to an end. Life loses its pull and its dominance in the face of death. Whoever plays only to keep on playing and does not from time to time glance at the long hand of the clock is insensitive and shortsighted — a person who does not think.

Our breaths are weightless, so transparently fragile; our value so distorted out of context by a society and by the social media that have become our most popular shapers of opinion. We forget that the outlines of our existence are only given substance by the leavening work of our spirit, which makes the circumstances around us and inside us rise, or flop, by means of our own humanity or the lack of it.

And so our lives and our days, full of inspiration, tumble about in loose thoughts, unanchored by our filters, looking for meaning that will meaningfully tether our fleeting days. Especially inside the context of fellow-travellers also on the way to a recognisable, digestible, absorbable destiny where the purpose of our relationships and our responsibilities is discovered together and mined together. All the different possibilities are locked up in the synergy that overlaps where we work or relax or worship together.

A meaningful synergy that, as everyone comes into line with the blueprint for their personal destiny for the now and for here in Wellington, unfolds into a delicate tapestry where the finest detail lays the foundation for larger nuances. If the breathing of our town is shallow and restless, it is because we ourselves, through our attitudes, are forcing the oxygen out of its lungs.

As the flow of our personal and mutual thoughts and pronouncements grows favourable and humane, it will, wherever our lives (without personal agendas) overlap, manifest itself in excellence — an excellence that keeps repeating as every aspect of our community life lands in this same flow. But then we will first have to be rid of the little foxes. Or tame them until they eat from a saucer or out of our hand. We must know when to be a strategist and when a soldier. But we must all always be thankful. It is a command. In Paul's time, and especially for now.

Groete Amanda Kreitzer