"With the death of rumination is the birth of a lie"; December 24, 2023; Shot on a CANON DIGITAL REBEL XTi
Visited Centralia on Christmas Eve. The air there felt rather surreal, and in the winter the gloom was especially overwhelming. How often do we find ourselves as observers of lingering destruction? I have never been a citizen of this town, and have no ties to it. Yet I found myself captured by the grief of a presence I could not identify. The hole was not of a metaphysical nature nor an existential one --- more of an evangelical buzzing sought by the death of old faith. It is a residence I cannot go back to, so instead I travel miles on the road to experience the weight of places like these. I observed the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary and attempted to place the situate this sight in the context of my own tranquility. Of course the Assumption does not exist for me. People feel peace within its walls during Sunday services, and their faith has nothing to do with me. I know it is possible for me to return back to this way of living, but I doubt it would be good for my soul. Always better as the onlooker, especially with matters that have to do with God. Because I experience God not as humanized force but as the mold of Splendor --- the continuous state of love-binding: the air I breathe, the people I love, the art I create and absorb, the words I put together, the trees in my gaze, the winter sun in my periphery. God is unity, not conformity. God is solitude, not isolation.