The Rooftop

I travel here...to this blessed height above a humble fire where the sunlight finds its source...and I choose to but sit, sometimes thinking but most of the time feeling nothing at all but what bliss can be gained from the senses. I sit here with the aged moss and the gentle trees and the weeping birds and every little creatures that dare befriend one of my cruel race. I sit along with them...never above them. I have no power over them than they have over me. So we sit together and show each other what it means to be alive...that joy and sorrow that binds us all. I sit and watch the gold turn to silver and then to black. They feel my thoughts darken as I stand in that black and smile, knowing that whatever form a smile takes in God’s land, they are smiling with me. Then the bats come and the air cools and the wind cries and the moon finally returns. My sight has left me with the sun and I laugh with joy at the mere power and weakness of such a loss. I see much more without it. In my crumbling mind there is no greater beauty than this: the night, without a single thing but paper and ink to clothe the soul, on this rooftop or in the forest or the cool sand of the beach...anywhere without an ounce of safety but love and trust. The epitome of physical human weakness is where emotion erupts and bursts like stars all around you. Suddenly, we aren’t so great, yet the trees stand strong still. I laugh because they call this fear when there is really nothing so magical and full of wonder as such a dazed innocence. Once you walk with me in this dark, with the bats and the moon and the wind, you will see that there is no such thing.