~a blessing is the true friend, for he is the Lord in disguise looking after her own.

(‘you will never scare me away not ever. i am with you always, pilgrim.’)

the mountain: she has many paths, many beasts and many pools of water.

the teeth and claws in the growling night ~are certain death.

the nymphs that tree-sttride from cliff to sunlit meadow (speaking their sylvanwhat)

~are certainly lovely

~also certain death.

this mountain, this mountain is very old, the broken artefacts sleep here:  its slopes are deep, the way is dimly lit. you look behind you, there are your footsteps, glowing upon the stones. for miles.

in the dim light will be your greatest journey

hmph! it is the only journey because

to reach the mountaintop is most difficult!

through the hot jungles, sticky, close, loud and stinking of blood. the thousand trails twist hideously, weird as ropes in dreams; snakes writhe in the quicksand. the swampwater, it boils;  the very leaves slice to the bone like blades. the dripping vines pulse closer, to murder you.

through the lower peaks; already the snow whistles past and cuts, knife like in iciness. the young blizzard is puissant. his clouds and crags stretch up for thirty-five miles, and tumble with boudlers and wolves, his dead reach up through the snow and feel for your boots, tripping you, you stomp their brittle fingers to shards and flee into a cave//darkness full of huge eyes.

through the high slopes of rain. rain and rain. then it stops. it becomes warm and sunny. a forest is here but the forest forgets where. hmmm these paths are flat and peaceful, sometimes they look like circles. sometimes the sun looks like a circle. sometimes it is nice and warm i will just set this stuff down. for a sec. oh yes the green shade is pleasant but how is my hand cut? what is that thing? i reach for an object and you don’t know what it is, but its really heavy and i cant find your shoes. sitting there me. somewhere. the wind blows. the grass. it grows. sunshine

(do not forget!)

go up!

up and up and up!

the mountaintop is strange;  it is familiar to you? new and orange like the sunrise, yet the sunset is sigiled by spirits. the plants they whisper a memory or a melody; a view from here is both. the world is a valley, light, pastel, its patterns are clear to you. the algorithms for riches and glories are written on every rock, the rivers flow with the knowledge to move clouds, to control the tempest, to call the very meteor gods forth (smoking with ozone! the dust of annihilation glittering upon their brow, they have brought a melted star)

here: written upon the great ttree the systems to gently command all wild things of the earth. they will love you.

here: written upon the great ttree how to forge an eternal object. (her watch is not made of molecules, and it ticks still, beyond the end of its world (four universes ago))

here: written upon the great ttree…is

here: written upon the great ttree is the very mathematics of immortality and yet!~

not written upon the ttree is the true gift: the view itself.

it is of another mountaintop! so distant, so watercolour, and higher. much much higher!

aaa~

please conduct yourselves along these mountain slopes with conduct. uh written on a wood sign wet with rain~

(at the top like a title):

:(i wrote this sign out of love; i will always approach you with only your freedom and happiness in mind):

—Act without attachment to the fruits of your labor, pilgrim, and pursue only the protection of the world.

— in the loveliness//light of shethelord your words are defeated; they suffer and double//nothing and wither like flowers in winter.

—when you teach along the path, you must first teach by example. ~softly, she says: you are the living ttruth! (she pulls you closer, her whispers warm and fragrant: you are my living ttruth.)

—and hey! make them laugh. sometimes//often, instead of instructing this person, it is better just to make that person laugh. (mmhm so guesswhat NO ONE CARES! fuck your golden wisdom)

—she the pilgrim, it is her right to ignore you, to ignore your words (forever maybe! *shrug*). you must respect that.

—think of why you said or did a thing. no: why did you really say that? why did you really do that? you know you. maybe, you are bullshit a lot of the time? maybe! cmon!

—Witness!: pilgrim, it is possible you are wrong about everything. every single thing you know. remember that. truth over pride! never forget it.

—you must always approach another with only their freedom and happiness in mind. in that order. these are the only concerns.

—she is hot and young and beautiful and exists beyond time. eyes that cant be painted, fingers that cant be numbered. her laughter is lived, not heard. she. she is bliss. the mountain is deep within her heart. the higher you climb, the faster it beats. she is anxious for you. she smiles, tears fall down her cheeks because she is so proud of you and loves you she loves you so goddamned much

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