Knowledge Comes Wrapped In Mystery

A tangle of truth and simplicity, or within promises are dreams not wanted

Spirit Wishing
Castle Well
Skipping Stones

Spin dancers, fruit eaters, flicker people, flesh flower valleys, sweet thicky air. Surface skaters, meat and bones and God live there with me in matter plays.

The passage of time was watched carefully. Despite our protests, it moved through our land. Stuff is big, stuff it tall, stuff is stuff, and stuff is all. I just love a good day. It started out quite like any day. The fantasy I grew the night before had not only taken over my yard, but the neighbors was well. You'd think by now they'd be used to it. God lived down the street, and as usual on such a day, we'd head for the river to cast stones. We were the best of friends.

Without thinking, I walked across the river, black from fallen souls, to pick up the stones we'd skipped across. When I turned to return, God was no where in view. I rushed back to the village for help. When they got back and recovered God, the sight of God made me sick. No longer a child like myself, but a very old man. I ran away, no punishment great enough to free my troubled mind.

When I returned most of the old neighborhood was gone. I had forgotten to dissolve the fantasy. The House of God still stood. I walked over and knocked on the door. Just when I thought no one was home, the door opened and there stood a child who looked just like God. "Do you remember the river?" The child laughed. "I've been there many times, it's a quiet place, peaceful. Would you like to join me for a walk there?" The child certainly looked like God. Was this a trick of the mind?

We set off for the river like we always had. God knew all the secret places. I was getting convinced. We got to the rivers edge and cast stones, skipping them across. Without thinking, I walked across the river and while gathering stones, glimpsed God following me. I turned quickly. God was nowhere to be seen. I set out for the village and help. The only house left was Gods. I knocked and knocked. I finally walked in and began searching the rooms. In an upper room was a very old man, who smiled when I walked in. "Have you met my son?"  If only it were possible, I would have died there and then.

I ran back to the river. The son of God had died. I took him back to the old man. My God! Look what I've done. A sin more despicable no one could commit. God couldn't die, just age. The son of God died! What am I going to do?

I ran away until I came back. The house of God still there. I knocked, God answered. It's been some time. We headed for the river like always. Casting stones, telling stories. I walked across to pick them up without thinking. Turned, and God was gone.

I never learned to die, or even cry. I just don't know how. When I got back and found the house of God empty, I went back to the river. I was determined to walk the river to its source. The memory of God, like a Holy Ghost to warm and calm my troubled mind, to guide my soul, the only of its kind able to walk on the waters of time. God died for me, that I might go on with its spirit inside me.


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