A Little Creative Writing: I have stood...

I wrote this today and wanted to share it with all of you. It's not really related to one scripture or even the Apostles' creed, which I will return to next post. It was more of a thought or image that I had at work and I had to write it. 

I have stood at the pinnacle at the center of the city's heart. I have felt the beat of that air deprived expanse. The life blood of this city is lies and crumbling facades. The beautiful destruction of souls and the degradation of the flash, mix with the self surveilled multitude.  The grime, which can’t be washed off with water, clings to builds, people, and hearts. And people slow dig their graves in the bowels of lust and false hope. We build our pedestals on others. And make our own selves the pedestals on which we place those who we would worship. And we worship daily, becoming zombies in front of our laptops and flat screens.

I have stood at the pinnacle of what makes us great: all our flesh and mighty dreams. I have felt the coming wind of our desolation. I have seen from afar the brutal hurricane which will destroy this look out. We have decided to be the city in the valley, a shadowed, crumbling mess. We weren’t called to this perpetual falling. We weren’t designed to keep falling down. I have stood at the pinnacle and known the deepest pain and seen only the coming of deep night. I stand there no longer.

The pinnacle of men’s desirers is forever to be higher. To set ourselves beyond the grime of our dirt made flesh.  I have knocked down my pedestal and claimed the clay my brethren. I have met the grime and feed it. I have seen the red eyes of broken lives and the slobbering mouths of the hopeless. They are my brothers. I have sat with the short skirted women, whose faces are no longer pretty and knelt with the track marked rattled bodies of the unsatisfied. They are my sisters. In the shadow of the pinnacle, I have found the face of God. And that shadow making tower, has become an ant hill of foolish wrath.

No longer will I seek to compete with God’s great wonders: to build my own small tower among the many others. No longer will I seek a pedestal on which to demand worship. I will worship on my knees with my fellow clay and dust. I will sing a hallelujah along with my brothers and sisters. We will seek the face of our salvation in the grime of the forgotten. The bones of the dead themselves will dance with us, for death is no longer binding. I have stood at the pinnacle of all the horrible glories of human desire. I will stand there no longer.