Piscean delusions littered with camera-ready shots of each ratcheted strap, nail hammered, wall jack retrofitted and inserted, six foot beam shim carried, positioned, and propped, and each leveling step lay between yellowing grass blades and inches thick slop - meticulously idealized but never recorded for a capsule no one knows and posterity no one wants.
In reality, mud takes center stage - dictating priorities - such is the life of a portal resurrection.
I think about getting the camera at several times during several stages - only to defer to the mud.
Energy, ever present, ever changing, ever.
Torii gates represent the ever - the infinite source of creativity - the origins of all.
Raising the gate mandates weight distribution to the topside of the sloped hill, alleviating pressure from the two-tiered top, and keeping the gate semi-level with the legs pushing against their three foot holes, while continuing to lift.
Slow. Steady. The portal reached 45 degree lift.
Enough. Enough height, enough mud, enough rain. Enough for today.
