sunday morning was saturday night

Up late…Law & Order CI…Sunday School lesson stewing…good times.

I wonder about the fights we face, the problems that brim in our hearts…check that…my heart.

the Romance calls, but the foreground of the painting won’t allow focus on background…maybe we’ve fallen for the magician’s sleight of tongue and began to believe that the background doesn’t truly matter, but the forked tongue still dances with every subtle attack, every momentary glance at the fruit…old fruit, new fruit, it doesn’t matter.

but we must see past that infernal tree in the foreground. the focus thief. the girl in the red dress. the big E.

only when we can see past that tree can we begin to see the light dance of off the crystal in the background.

yeah, crystal.

just to the left of the tree is a mountain, an enormous mountain. a rock so large that it wouldn’t dare allow any of us to represent it with an embarrassing abbreviation like “mtn”. absolutely out of the question. completely out of control.

this rock, more than a hill but not less, is unique because it isn’t only the big thing in the background, but its the stone that supports the tree in the foreground. the dirt that keeps that tree of consequences growing, producing fruit too easily plucked, too easily held, too easily eaten. that mountain is just the visible fingernail of the reality of everything we know.

it supports the tree.
it supports the magician.
it supports the volunteer.
it supports the Painter…in some way, bizarrely, maddeningly, beautifully, it is the Painter.

the Romance and the Painter along with the Haze that drifts over the face of the lake off to the right of the tree…

tonight its the dancing tongue that tries to keep the mountain out of reach, tries to keep the foundation out of sight, tries to keep my eyes dry and blurry and locked on the tree.

not tonight. too much Romance. too much Haze. too much Timber…too much Mountain. not mtn. it will never be mtn. mtn can’t satisfy, vindicate, or sustain. only Mountain can.

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