A stream of conciousness exercise

In he midst of the dark heat, the mangrove moves into the boiling rocks. The rocks intrude into his ripples, muscles tensing and sweat wrung from pores aright. In the dark heat no water quenches, the pulls and prods of mad rails increases as the mangrove progresses. The images of past souls intrude in his mind and give strength to the mangrove as he reaches the valley and begins his climax. The place of the dark night is the place of testing, of crucibles and fire untainted. The mangrove sweats toxins and bleeds passion.  The place of the heat is the place nearest to his Lord. The breath of the lord makes the hills melt and the presence is so near that all else is obscured, the brightness of the Lord making the eyes see naught in the blaze.  The mangrove presses on, the hot wind scours his skin and removes layer after layer of growth, until from the mangrove appears a man, with skin like an infant and tender as the dawn.