#2

It's not a place. At least I don't think so.

I think it is more of a mindset or a thought. You know, like utopia or unicorns. This perfect place where worship and prayer and love all come together perfectly. Again, I am not sure that this place is obtainable here on earth.

But do I still long for it?

A: Yes.

Should we all?

A: Yes.

But for now I will just have to settle for pine groves set in the grooves and crooks of this place. Where twig filled choirs the soil ridden orchestras sing harmonies to he who sits on high.

The one who strips bark off of trunks.
The one who creates life from a lonely timber on the edge of the forest.
The one who breathes into the soil and creates hammer swingers.

For now I will sit across from these filth buckets and listen.
Listen to them breathe the name of the one who first breathed.

I want to believe that this sanctuary will appear out of the pink and orange sky. That the crystal spirit in my minds-eye will make it hover over the waters face. And that there we will all have the chance to pour this bile from our bellies.

But for now I will take this book given me and beat in the face of Beelzebub. And I'll do so until blood drenched cloaks come riding in from the east. O' the joy.

Then that angry lover will return.
The scornful groom with tattoo on thigh and sword in mouth.

O' the minions that will appear.

And how rotten the stench will be. But OH! how sweet as well.

And then after our bones have been scorched with the fires of Fatherly eyes we will rise again.
We will stand under that great mushroom cloud of legionnaires.
And then off in the distance we will see it.

That simple white image where worship and prayer and love all come together.