The Edge of the World

Of yore, a gold-gilt structure stood tall upon a mountain there it remined on for ages as an ancient vine-veined temple a crumbling ruin tottering on the edge of the world. Within it a ghostly priest dwelt waiting long for a sign shuffling from one alter to another while the edge of the world drew ever nearer. Then all tipped over…. some say it was always a heap of clouds, just a hollow construct. The mountain it was built upon simply melted into nothing a massive shrine tumbling away. Now there is nothing to hold on to, or see, nothing to build upon, just endless sky where all falls as a feather swept into a bottomless well. This allegory is the tale of a religion that required too many gilded girders to hold it up, or it is a parable of a Mind that knows naught of its power to deceive or create.