I have often felt a kindred spirit with the dwarves of Tolkien fiction. Not because of their lust for wealth and power or their incarnate little man syndrome. I felt a connection with them because they live under a mountain. I live beneath a mountain of work as well. The art and writing I do are often gasps of fresh air from a tiny hole that I dug with a keyboard and a pencil. I am below the mountain hidden in its depths and I dig.
Yet I am reminded that there is a way of thinking that is toxic to us. When we dwell only on the problems that face us and never entertain the thought of past and future victories we find ourselves in a state of mental Rhabdomyolysis. The damaging thoughts must be had there is no choice but then we allow them to cloud our vision and soon it is all we see. Then it’s not that the damaging thoughts happen, it’s that all we do is think the damaging thoughts it’s all we have.
Our mental rivers have become acidic and the fish are all dead. Yet it is not all the end. The great thing about mental landscapes and our minds is they can be healed. They can be changed. All it takes is a spark of hope. A point of light in darkness and then focus. Focus on that one point because it might be all you have.
Man will worship. They will worship no matter what. What they worship is up to them. Some men worship the mountain and the riches that they find. Trust me the mountain is full of riches. However, when you place your ears on the said of my mountain, or when you walk through its storied halls you will hear the echo of a voice deep in the bowels of this great mountain singing the praises of the Lord.