Ordinarily the ordinary doesn't seem out of place but fits right in to the normal and expected.it might cause a scare if it suddenly were no longer there. But when we find an extraordinarily unreachable person or object becoming ordinary it frightens the heck out of me. Can nothing stay out of range from our smudging finger prints?does the object fall from grace or do we withdraw or grace? The object viewed from afar appears faultless and entirely desirable but up close falls short and reveals themselves nothing but ordinary. Our expectations, their humaness,our selfishness,lack or frank truth about ourselves. WHY do the imperfect seek the perfect? I don't seek perfection in myself but long to find it elsewhere. Once found I intend to keep it hidden away, from myself or others?

Those who climb will always climb. Continuing to pull down,cast aside, objects and foot holds they strove so long for. Only to continue climbing. The perfect stopping point is not there


Bah