In the beginning,
everything was unshaped
and quiet.
Nothing stirred,
no edges,
no warmth,
no sense of direction
a blank plane,
untouched by time
or memory.
Then,
a shift.
Subtle
a drifting murmur
of will.
Fractal outlines glimmered
where emptiness once lay,
spurts of possibility
shifting across the void.
Spire after spire of glow
tore through the gloom,
stars flaring,
dragging a brilliant tail
of grit and promise
through new skies.
Waters swelled, rolling in great muscled surges, thick with the scent of brine and unseen depths, heaving under skies bruised with storm-glow, curling and breaking in restless hunger against the newborn land.
Algae clung
to the cradle of liquid beginnings,
a slick green hunger
pulling life upward.
A raw funk of ozone
scorched the nascent air.
Storms rumbled,
swollen and waiting,
thick with the bruised scent
of creation’s labor.
Mountains of peat
rose from the flood
the earth’s first backbone,
wet and black,
muscled from the deep.
And in that vastness,
God made man
in His own image.
We drift now,
like leaves on a newborn the current,
torn between awe
and the anxiety
of our own limits.
We loathe
how small we feel
horizons stretching wider
than our lungs can hold.
Yet –
Each day smears itself across time,
a streak of brilliance or ruin,
soaking into the fragile thread of our existence,
impossible to scrub away.
glow, filtered
through swirling galaxies,
descends,
a baptism of gold
and cold distances.
A new creature stirs
fragile, curious,
instinctively reaching
for the face of its Maker.
In a cosmic blink –
a wink of eternity –
our story truly begins.
To tear chaos from the bone of nothingness,
a voice, a Divine decree,
carved borders into the void,
etching the first laws into the quivering dark.
Planets turned statuesque,
spiraling in faithful dance.
Seas foamed
with intumescent fury,
waves roaring
with newborn fervor.
The taste of lime tang
bright on ripening fruit
a promise of sustenance,
the first sweetness.
One punch of truth
can blast illusions,
shattering the chains
that bind us
to fleeting aims.
We see our chipped hopes
mended
by a forbearance undeserved
a quiet sort of miracle
that outlasts
every emptied attempt
at self-redemption.
Volcanoes spit sulfer plumes
into the quivering sky,
harsh and acrid,
power unmasked.
Devils of storm-wind
howl through the clouds,
cackling in the wreckage
of everything built on sand.
Heavenly glimpses
plaster our minds
an aching
that something more
must exist.
Every atom hums with a gliph of purpose,
etched in blaze at the birth of time,
spinning in silent obedience, unseen but unshaken,
Quarks and Leptons woven with quivering strings, speak volumes – a letter
in the unbroken script of the infinite Mind.
Our ego shrinks
mere grit motes
in a swirl of galaxies.
Yet
euphoria floods us,
knowing we are seen,
known,
held by One
who never ends.
Morning fog
shimmers with opalescence,
like a silent herald
of mysteries
beyond our reach.
Wonder…
We claw at knowledge,
digging through grit and ink,
stacking books like Babel,
thinking wisdom can be weighed, measured,
poured into the emptied cup of our understanding
but our minds are thimbles,
spilling over before we taste the depth.
Michelangelo wrestled beauty from the rock,
chiseling muscles taut with divine tension,
marble veins mimicking the throb of the living –
but the real Master speaks,
and mountains rise with spines sharper than any blade,
oceans churn, sculpted by the wind’s unseen hand,
Nebulas unfurl in spirals of blaze and ice,
art so immense it cannot be framed,
so perfect it does not need revision.
Rivers run oily
under starlight,
an artistry
so pure
it nearly aches.
Olive branches
bridged wrath and peace,
a timeless sign
of a war-won reconciliation.
Where sin festers,
it grows putrid
bloated, fevered,
twisting purity
into something grotesque.
And still
A sovereign King,
robe heavy with the mass of eternity,
drenched in purple darker than storm-bruised sky,
train spilling like a the current of molten royalty,
billowing through the thrones of seraphim
wings veiling faces too weak for kavod,
voices breaking the spine of the air
Holy! Holy! Holy!
The trail of His robe smokes, thick as burning myrrh,
shaking the thresholds of all that dares to stand.
He reigns, high above the wreckage of empires,
above the splintered altars of our idols,
above the ruin we call civilization,
crowned not by hands,
but by blaze that does not consume.
Violet silence
sometimes blankets creation
a hushed gasp that punctures pride,
begging reverence
before the Throne.
Sunsets hemorrhage mandarin
across the horizon,
reminding us
how short this day has been
how quickly
the glow dies,
how much
we take for granted.
In that mandelbrothian swirl
of possibility,
God’s nature unfolds
layer beneath infinite layer,
the gift unearned spiraling outward,
never reaching an edge.
He alone sits where time shatters,
where past and future fold like paper,
where ages flicker and die like spent coal
unmoved, unaging, unbound.
He reaches down,
takes loam and respiration, bone and blood,
wraps infinity in skin that wrinkles,
veins that break, hands that will hemorrhage.
The limitless bends, binds,
steps inside the hourglass,
lets time carve lines into Him,
so that the finite might taste eternity.
We fell.
Each offense
an infinite breach
against a holiness
we cannot fully imagine.
Justice roars
for eternal penalty
a punishment
as ceaseless
as the Deity.
Yet –
forbearance intervened.
Each vile, festering wound of rebellion,
gaping and oozing with the rot of pride,
every rancid thought, slick with decay,
crawling like maggots through the fleshly soul.
every ego-ridden act
placed upon the divine shoulders
of a dying God-Man.
He died as one of us,
eternity
wrapped in vulnerable skin,
absorbing wrath
until the cup
was dry.
Thus, justice
stands satisfied,
and the gift unearned unlocks
the forbearance gate
for those He calls.
In redemption,
we are seized by a love so immense, so mandelbrothian,
that every glimpse unspools into a thousand more,
each revelation splitting open – a geode,
bursting with colors unseen, harmonies unheard,
the gift unearned cascading in opalescent waves, ungathomed, relentless,
flooding every emptied, every starving place within us.
It defies the stars that burn and die,
defies the grave that gapes and swallows,
defies time itself
pouring eternity into our quivering hands,
overflowing, unspent, unbreaking,
a song that no voice can contain,
a joy too wild to be measured.
Each moment now
reverberates
in the halls of forever.
Eternity stretches outward
an unending voyage,
full of wonder,
full of awe.
We were made
for more
than a transient realm.
In the dance
of quantum tangos
and cosmic storms,
the Maker’s fingerprint
marks everything
that is.
And in the
quiet corners
of our consciousness,
infinity’s echo
calls…
to tremble,
to worship,
to rise.
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