Reaching out, to touch the space beyond the edge. The end of self, beyond what I thought to know or feel. For that is the eclipse of imagination. What grasp is had beyond the end, outside the envelope of space, time, plasma and suck? No greater moment of feeling small.

Answering the questions I’ve yet to form and naturally could not ask. Everyone wants to know what was before the beginning because scientists cannot imagine that something can simply always be. Does God learn, progress, change or adapt? What does it mean if not?

Do I have any right to know or ask? Most times I am comfortable sitting in gratefulness, then the monster who wants to know rarely invades the spaces in between. What massively calls to men that they will travel every moment, each miles, every day to simply touch finger tips?

The Season does not whisper nor announce itself. Once there was calm then the winds became, sponsoring movement, chanting names moving the world sometimes in a swirl.Time demands without hope or patience that there is always a last minute looming.

Oft, I try to think of nothing but the empty spaces of consciousness are injected and dwelt by compelling influence. It is much better to think of God that He alone occupies the inner dwelling, freeing it from those influences which seek to plunder, capture and steal my joy.

I don’t need your opinion but I may want or ask for it. Because some lessons are taught in pain or rugged experience, but most are pursued. There is an integral, foundational choice to the matter of life, such that some cannot handle the realization of their own account.

Do we farm for pleasure or to measure bushels and stored meats? Is there obligation to find and furrow to banish the scarcity and satiate want? Are we wanton when we need nothing? What is that yearning that calls me to ask for answer even when there has never been need?