music :: worship :: life
What happens to the candleglow when it reaches the edge of darkness? How is it that an orb of ruddy candlelight gathers into itself, huddling to ward away the shadows? And those shadows and things whose rich saturnine colors dim like cooling lava, thicker than mud, red brown, murky, do not demur to undulate slowly in the gloom. Menacing. Not with carnivorous rage, the healthy blood lust of the living predator for the living prey. But with brooding. Dark resentment. A glowering envy of geological patience. The slow creeping eternal envy of the dark and lifeless, the immutable and derelict, the lost and unsearched for, the missing but unmissed. That kind of envy! The unquenchable loathing of the dark and torpid for the light and agile simply because it is light and agile.
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