We can stop now, we are not deluded, not that story, it is not the main theme. We don’t need to fulfill anything else; we are bridges over the creek, we have been shown more, and ¿to what end, if all those stage lights were not for us to bask in? No, we’ve recapped, passing through a tunnel of thrills and goose bumps, fleeting passions immersed in philosophies, until they mellowed, settling into us for certain.
We can stop now; this is not our stage. We’re the tunnel, a passage, a bridge hanging over a ravine; an invisible network of comm lines, waves that work gently, prompting, coaxing, while all hell breaks loose. Let’s halt our fidgeting, without frustration or wallowing; let us tell all, say it like it’s been, and allow that story to do the sacred work we’ve been entrusted with. We are not the romantics of old, but always hopeful in His works; not delusional, but imagination has converted our soul. We’ve been bathed in more than a half century recap, we are the direct line of transformation.
Stop your worry, we are already in place, between time frames, generations. We can sit still and speak our original kind of diplomacy with a cup of tea. Our message will resound even if unnoticed today; the song took years to be fully finished, and it shall take plenty more to be heard. A hanging bridge, we sway gently over a deep ravine, being the work. Someone will hear the song and eventually want to cross these lonely mountains, be sure of it, and let that be your faith.
