Im starting to take night-time jogs. My knees are hurting after just ten, fifteen minutes of running. Am I really that fat, I wonder? I have an excuse that keeps me going: I find an excuse to stare into the night skies. There is no greater poetry to the spirit than the take a long and visual drink of the heavens. Its azure wine with hints of midnight, speckled with flavours of pure silver glass. After I run past the towns lights, and brave past the glowing obnoxious halo of blinding gold that adorns the final gas station, I am treated with near utter darkness. It is under this cover that another one is drawn away: the blanket of heaven is here unveiled. I can see the Milky Way! As though some ancient Titan spilled an ewer of holiness across the abyss and gave light to the living world. I limp along, squinting when the cars pass by, wondering thoughts like, What is a Chinaman doing out here? Is he an illegal, trying to steal our jobs and financial security? And under all of this irrelevant minutiae of the everyday, I find that in the dark which I cannot in the world of the living: that there is no greater pleasure on earth than that found in the eternal depth of heaven. It is the mortal link to eternity; the beginning and ultimate end of all creation.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 05:34:23 +0000
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