Really

No, but listen. Quick, before Dale comes back. You want to know really why it's hard to work? Not because I'm lazy (what does that mean?) Not because I'm anxious (of course I am; terrified) But the real reason?

Is just that it's too beautiful.

It's too beautiful. What's her name, God, or whatever you call her, is always there. I can't take any of this work seriously. And then the people are so beautiful, and so much more real than software or money can ever be. Only landscapes and deities and people can hold my attention. The attitude of adoration is the only one that makes sense to me.

"Holy, holy, holy," they sing. Wholly, wholly, wholly.

At times like this, I feel God's presence, like a blazing August sun on the back of my neck.

And nothing makes sense but to turn around.

You know? Even though the act of turning makes her vanish. I don't know how to turn yet. I don't know how to speak.

But this -- this -- is important. Not that.