Melting gold requires very hot fire. As the gold liquifies, the impurities float to the top to be skimmed off. The finished result is pure gold. So it is with us. We are heated and smelted in the flames of trials, each day an arduous trek toward cleansing the impurity out of ourselves. We rise and fall with the sun, heaving and twisting toward our goals and dreams. So many are forsaken by the empty promises of this world, failing to realize that this is not the land of the living, but the land of the dying. We are given the choice of what dies in us, what we nurture and what we buy with our attention.
There are those satisfied with plastic, but when plastic burns it chokes with acrid fumes. The smoke is a sickly mix of green, brown and opaque gray. How is one to live in such conditions? Rather that I strive to be melted, seeing the slag of my soul rise to the top to be gently lifted off in the light of day, than to boil and bubble with stench and poison. How many shiny things there are