by bob county
The nature of life
They assemble. It is a ritual that predates memory.
Preacher: How far is it?
Acolyte: We are here.
Preacher: Where is it?
Acolyte: It is everywhere.
The assemble move about the temple in all directions.
Preacher: There is no body here.
Acolyte: Is there some place that will make the soul less thirsty?
Preacher: Stand firm in that which you are.
The temple is a skull.
The assemble are ghosts.
The skull whispers: I belong to an old spirit. I gave up life and
now I notice I am a single note in a string
that sings forever.
Preacher: Who lifted up the mountains?
Acolyte: Stay with me always.
The skull lies in the sand. The wind whistles through its knoll.
Nothing is forgotten. The spirit produces what nature cannot.+