Culture collects itself in dynamism. It is the collective symbolic self.

When it codifies, it becomes an it–ink frozen on paper- and drifts away from itself. Meant to be one, many-nuanced, diademic poem of self as expression of God; but when it calcifies, breaks off (it as an it) is often idolized and becomes something outside of itself.

And yet, and yet, we are one, as He is one. A city is a poem, a culture, a novella–let us remain attached.

Sometimes, in time, He commences a funeral, so drifting aspects can return, and be reborn.

Icons fracture in the blaze of core identity.

Come home and burn, it seems to say to me; don’t project yourself onto others. It is finished. We are meant to be one. We are dynamic, and He is the Dynamism. Let us collect ourselves!