To Fighting On The Roof (first letter)

You make higher ground seem so contested.
What’s with the vertical axis? It would be hard to figure out if you fixed yourself above and below everything else in this life (like a layer of sediment, a rung in a ladder, a brick in a wall and countless other clich├ęs).
Consciousness gets stuck up and down. Some people scramble to get on top and take a shot. It’s what you’ve always needed to exist.
They head to the roof in the hopes of revelation, perhaps some clarity, control, some purpose even. They think they’ll surmount all obstacles. They want to get closer to the sun. They’re hoping to distance themselves from the smell of this messy earth.
So you let them play God (an always inadequate imagining of what that might be). Your being is transfigured into a Battle of Pretenders.
You keep promising higher purpose, something situated between Heaven and Earth, but your arena has been built on a growing pile of garbage.
It’s the shabbiest place for fools to fall from.