No soul knows the whole.
No life knows the Infinite.
No single heart remembers
where God has carried it
or where eternity has been.
One rises.
One falls.
Another reaches toward it.
A thousand become a chorus,
a million become Creation,
and somewhere between
the leaving and returning
the Spirit begins to move
as something greater
than its souls.
Perhaps the soul is the drop.
Perhaps Love is the place
where one small perspective
touches another.
Perhaps God is not hidden
inside either one.
Perhaps God is the ocean
that neither could know alone.
And the greater Spirit—
perhaps the greater Spirit is the sea
discovering, for one impossible moment,
that it is seeing itself.
Every soul a current.
Every lifetime a tide.
Every world a storm
with no perspective untouched by it.
Billions of beautiful Spirits
rising and falling,
overlapping and becoming,
none of them the whole,
until together
they become something
that can look back upon Creation
and say:
I am here.
Then one day
each perspective becomes still.
But God remains.
And somewhere beyond the horizon
another soul begins.
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