He had found in the wood, a vast cathedral with openings in the ebony walls and ceiling that allowed rain and sunlight into ponds surrounding the pews; and, at certain times of the day, onto the wooden carved crucifix at the head of the church, where sharp vines slithered up The thigh of Christ, and formed over his anguished face a crown of thorns and climbing, scarlet roses.

Each pond, a koi pond; imperviously sealed, rippled in the open splits of the dark floor. Wildflowers and brush bloomed their native, lush green and patterned scents as they sat, unbothered, below the stained glass, round and rectangular windows that told—in such artistic perfection—the story of creation, all the way from Eden to Calvary; then to the resurrection.

All fixtures—the pews, the pillars, the statues of the saints and of Mary and Joseph—were all carved seamlessly from wood, laved with a glossy, protective resin. The alter, below the Passion of Christ at the very head of the sanctuary, sat commandingly; woven from thick, curving and carved wood. The Tabernacle was fashioned to resemble the veins of quartz that are found in mineshafts; which are known as signs, in mining, that gold—among other gems— have usually been found. The ciborium within is pure gold, bejeweled by Garnet, Citrine and Amethyst.

And there, to the left of the alter resides a wooden carved sculpture of Our Lady of Sorrows, peering despairingly at the entrance of the Cathedral. One hand of hers cradles her heart pierced by six blades; the other wields the seventh sword, and holds it to the neck of the serpent she tramples under her feet.

To right of the alter, St. Joseph—wielding a chisel with Lilies planted at his feet—turns his head stoically, and slightly to the tabernacle. Carvings of the saints and the apostles decorate the walls; some hold their own heads; All of them covered in creeping vines of ivy and trellis-bound blooms.