Mount Fuji-Photo by Reza Pakzad

Keep doing this, and shake the proverbial salt every time on the wound, our wound, the less fortunate and the much too much given to judgment. Recite the old myth, sing the ancient lyrics, loud but with a different tongue, just so for us not to understand, but simply to repeat the accents. Hold a mirror and the candle to us to countenance ourselves in the faint flickering flame. Contradict us, deny us, time upon time, and every instant, so we confess our unsteady non-existence to our most constant being. Stare at us, from beyond the blue, from over the peak, from behind the meaning of grace, till our eyes are drunk with shame and soaked in stupor. Beat us to everything, precede us everywhere, so that when we arrive, always a little too late, we see that nothing can ever change but that you have already left. You keep doing this; we have the proclivity and passion is of our climes and to our taste. Pain is our only remedy; the itinerary of its motion mapped out into the face of our most beautiful and most innocent.