I don’t know anything about God.
Everything I’ve read I can’t remember.
Everything is motion. Swaying and vibrating and shifting and changing.
The light the clouds, the trees the breeze. The air the sound the time.
I can watch the light catch the edges of the clouds. But I don’t know what clouds and light are made of.
What do the words mean when all I hear is sound? What does the book mean, when all I see is paper?
Form and space and time. I see them.
Silence rules this seeing.
In the world of time and motion, I look from within, as silence as seeing.
I look without end – see without fixing. No end is no other.
Where else can I go from here? Love is born here.
I am now, and always – where is the other over there?
I am home and here and here is God.
What else is there?