O Lord you are.
You are here beside me, in me, six miles above the North Atlantic,
in the crowded lanes of Leiden, and in the winds above the city,
and in the ocean currents that swirl in the deep, where only electric eyes can see.
Every atom and every wave equation you inhabit,
and you know each bacterium and each rabbit,
and each person who ever was given a soul to carry into timelessness
where you live.
O Lord you are.
You are at a hillside on Callisto, where the chill ever-dark sky shows a weak sunrise,
where no living creature shall ever stand, you are,
looking, knowing,
across time and space, time-space, you smile and joy ever ripples,
where other sheep lived in a corner of Andromeda for a moment, long ago,
and you made your song true there as well–
a story of your rescue – the only really true story of all.
O Lord you are.
You are not all powerful, but power,
not all loving, but love,
not eternal, but the one for whom all of time is but a fallen leaf on a dappled forest floor,
where I will greet you again for the first time, calling your name,
hearing you call mine,
then holding you,
then holding every person I ever have loved,
and stroking every beloved furry animal, long lost,
then holding you.
O Lord You are.
6.23.12
