I want to be the kind of person, who is there. The kind of friend you dare to say is your best. Showing up not to be seen but to give, because present in a gift is the abandonment of self. The first offering we have to the world we find yourselves in. All I have is you and all we have is each other. But at the same time there is another. Its the One that holds us together, along with time, and the rest of this odd globe. Also the testing moments of everyday, I want to be there, seeing Her hold our hands. And I want the moment to last, unlike the wind that is but a thief as it flies away waving at us. I want my hands in the dirt feeling the ages intersect in the soil as I toil and plant my Genesis 3 story back in this dust. The funeral of the fall is just about over, yet, I find it so hard to be here for the last moments. I want to run like hell but to no place far, just up the hill to the towns that sit on the edge of the mountains. There I sense a resting and vesting of self in things that last. The hyperactivity of the towns below confused the slow warm sound of nothings that whisper the sweetness of something true.
