It's been centuries, no millennia and more, that we've been reaching for something we can't grasp. We try to hold You inside our hands or paint You into our art but You cannot and will not be contained. We humor ourselves, saying own being cannot be shrunk and packaged into a ready-made box, but yet we're convinced you're less? How can this be? How can we claim to push to the corners the very broom that sweeps us into place?
I'll try to grasp and reach for things I cannot see. Things that I can only feel with fingertips that are beyond my dreams. How can I be sure of anything if I can barely even sense a fingernail of Your being? I know You're out there and somehow in here. I cannot convince myself that I've done (or ever will do) enough for You to consider me one of Your own. It's beyond me. You're beyond me. You escape accurate description. How did You even come up with this idea of coming here to experience these things? You came from outside of it all to a place where expiration is normal. How did you even fit inside these walls that we've created?
There is so much here that doesn't make sense and I thank You for that. I know I cannot fully know You here and I thank You for that.
