The City is a dynamic, living narrative, an unfolding autobiography, a melding of countless invisible stories; raveling not in words but in movement, fear, desire, need, coupling—the daily of living.
The city seen is a narrative painted upon the canvas of the city invisible; meaning – definition — is found not in the narrative, but in the illegible depths of the unseen city. To think that the ‘painting’ is the narrative is delusional. For what is seen is but an incomplete snapshot in time, one fragment of the ever-unfolding narrative. Incomplete because it cannot capture the full dynamic of that moment, limited to the immediate perspective and surround.
Yet we delude ourselves into believing that we can arrange the narratives of ‘captured city’ in a collage called ‘The City.’ Deluded, we seek to manage that which has been captured; convincing ourselves the fiction that we write is The City.
And The City ceases to exist.
[I think the same could be said for the local church in many cases. And if so, the church ceases to exist even when people attend.]