I think of the forest and all the life that abides therein
Imperfect and evolving without the idea of sin
I think of a tree standing solitary in a sylvan glade
And I think of the leaves and stems of which it is made
And then I begin to wonder and ponder on what lies therein
And consider if the atoms of which it is formed are free of sin
Because in time those atoms become one with the soil
The place where man dost sweat and labor and toil
And in time they become a plant of an entirely different nature
And are consumed by people or some other sundry creature
And when those atoms blend and become part of a human being
Wherein lies the cloak of original sin but in a soul beyond our seeing
A noetic concept that defies all detection and careful observation
A soul not tangible, not touchable and covered with obfuscation
It makes me muse reflectively upon exactly who I am and exactly what I know
And wonder if sin is a wisp of curling phantom smoke as in a magic show
That can never truly be captured or ever felt or ever be defined
That will always defy description and can never ever be confined
But rather is a construct of our immortal souls entangled in the Ghost so Holy
In a dance unfolding beyond our corporeal forms that makes and forms us wholly
Because can an atom in a forest tree know of whiskey, lust and original sin?
No, I think, and sit here in this physical shell only knowing what the spirit lets in.
KAROSHI
PANDICULATION
CHAVISH
CONCUPISCIBLE
PLUVIOSE
ECOTONE
JOHN MUIR TRIBUTE
SEASONS
THE EVITABLE JOURNEY
ANACAMPSEROTE
BLEEZED
CALIGINOUS
CURGLAFF
SOMNIFUGUOUS
AESTHETIC
ALCHEMY
ALLEGORY
ANACHRONISM
ANATHEMA