Dear Friend,

I write to you from the depths of a fiery Heaven. From this optimal vantage-point at my writing-desk I have a clear view of my garden where a rose-vine has inched itself fully around the trellis and has taken the liberty of igniting itself in a multitude of sanguine explosions.  There are other varieties of flora in this inferno which serve to contribute subtle flashes of azure and amber to the flickering display.  That the ornate wood-work of the trellis has not fallen to coals within my hour of its contemplation would seem a miracle, since – if perception is reality – I truly am gazing at an efflorescent manifestation of Dante’s Inferno.  Naturally, my sustained interest in this display has begun to ignite a wonder-lust within that chamber of my heart which is responsible for impelling me into action.  With objectivity, I surmise that this transcended perspective will soon be inadequate for that capricious child within me and his curiosity for detail.  Through prolonged strife I have learned not to protest these arbitrary excursions, for he will stamp his feet and threaten desertion lest he have his way.  It is a fool’s errand, I say, as we are certain to confront dualities at closer examination of this blazing botanic scene that can do no other than depreciate such a spectacular vista!  Yet, here do I stir in abating its proximity.

On my way, I am reminded of a similar occasion where, from afar, I surveyed the scene of a lush, rolling pasture.  From that abstracted perspective I was sure that I beheld the very feather-bed of God.  So comfortable and serene did it appear that I could have reclined there all day in a state of relaxed repose. But as you might suspect, this is forsooth not what occurred – as my pesky brain-child would not allow it.  For no practical reason that I can surmise, I found myself on my feet – trudging through brush and thicket for the better part of a day.  However, I did revel in this opportunity to convince the irksome lad that we had quit our own Divine pallets in pursuit of a ‘greener grass’ which by Nature would perpetually disappear like an oasis in the desert.  I must admit – discreetly, of course – howbeit, that I did find a strange physiological fulfillment in the wake of those exertions.

Alas!  I am now within range of the floral flame and am not surprised to find it extinguished.  Moreover, had I not been fully conscious en route, I might have insisted that this soft, thorny bouquet of roses is an entirely different arrangement from the one which had so vehemently alighted in the frame of my picture-window.  In fact, I believe I will take metaphysics over the testimony of my experience here, and proclaim that this very rose-bush is quite another thing!  Interestingly enough, my new perspective has given rise to a better regard for the close-up view!  I now stand intimately in the midst of a beautifully delicate display of scarlet petals which is uniquely Divine and incomparable to that which I observed earlier.  However, I will not readily admit this to Boy-Wander for he will surely have me gazing into a microscope….

Zooming in,
Mr. J.S. Hazelwood