Church of Tabor

Have another try at what I was groping for yesterday.  Maybe this time it'll take.

Today, I climbed up Tabor from the east side.  I was coming from PCC at the intersection of 82nd and Division.  I'd just dropped Maty off at class.

A warm pink light hung across the city.  Old Man Hood exuded a livid alpenglow.  It would already be deep dusk in the purple shadows on his flanks, where the westering sun did not penetrate.

I stopped to pay him homage on my way up, but I was deaf to any wisdom he might have imparted.  My mind was occupied by minutiae --all those things that I use to distract myself in these uncertain times.  Bills to pay, chores to accomplish, goals to consider.  Circular thought patterns brought on frustration and ennui and robbed me of my humility.  I began to imagine that I did not deserve the troubles that beleaguered me.

At the top, pilgrims were gathered at the altar that looks away west.  A congregation of lovers, friends, athletes, photographers, children, dogs --all sitting or standing quietly --paying homage to the sunset. I joined them.

Do you know what is most frustrating?  Just this:  I can't seem to remember to never take myself too seriously.  I wish I could.  It makes life so much easier.