And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he halted upon his thigh. -Genesis 32:31 KJV

Go into the desert.
Go alone.
Go as night is falling.

As you wait, find the fight in yourself. You must endure the entirety of night. To survive what is calling, you will need to draw strength from places you do not yet know. You must summon it from marrow.

No one will come to rescue you.
This night will have no witness.

When you reach the brink of your own will—still many hours before daylight, continue. Fight with your whole might. You must not break before dawn breaks. Keep fighting.

Keep fighting because the fight is your only choice. Because your opponent, this duende, will not be playing. He will engage you hand-to-hand; you will fight him face-to-thigh-to-spine-to-skull-to-shin; a battle at the very edge of the rim.

He has come to bless and destroy you. Among other injuries, he will dislocate your hip. You will be fighting for your life, it’s true. So fight— fight until at last, when the dark begins to lift, your angel-enemy surprises you by begging to be let go.

When did you gain advantage?
How this happened, you will never know.

You could end it then, you could let him go— your every sinew will be spent. As the tender light begins to favor the brink on which you stand, you will savor the thought of sinking into the cool night-sand. You will want more than anything to sink and dissolve, to relent.

When he begs you for release, hear his plea. But do not repent.

Instead, be surprised by your own voice saying “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
He will bless you, because he will have no choice. You will not let go. It is time to obtain your true name.

Claim it from the maker of stars and ashes, blood and dust. Claim it from the unnameable.
Demand to hear the name which has already borne you across the desert, the only name which could ever bear you home.

He will bless you with your name, because he must.

Demand also the name of your adversary. He will not tell you. No matter, you will already know how to name the place on which you stand.

Name the land for the truth of whom you faced—the dark angel that did not finish you, the flames beyond naming, the fierce burning which did not consume.

Let him depart without words, you will remember his grip. Watch him walk away as the night slips, as new light begins to draw darkness from the ledge. Notice the length of his shadow along the desert, the way it edges out a far distance along the coarse sand. Feel the hurt in your hip without remorse. You could be crawling, it could be worse.

With each halt in your thigh, remember this night—
your true name, the ledge, the long fight.

The cadence of your limp will relocate you.

Start walking then, you will be new.