Ah, my little humans,
you want so much for me to look like you, don’t you?
Yes, you are an image of me,
but I am infinite, and have infinite images.
You speak of my hands, my face,
but you could, if you thought of it,
speak of my wings, my flippers,
my leaves, my tentacles, my antennae.
Since all is within me, any is a fair image—
volcano, or zephyr, or gravity.
But the best is an image of my wholeness,
the infinitude of my variety.
You want my heaven wrapped around your earth,
don’t you?—the rest of the cosmos cold and void.
Well, you should see it.
The rest of the world,
of which you are not the center.
Galaxies, billions of them.
Yes, I am that big.
Surrender your arrogance.
You are not the only ones,
even the loveliest, wisest or most musical.
They are also in my image,
who do not look like you at all.
Yes, I am the God of beings you can’t imagine.
The universe, vast and teeming,
that’s a pretty good image,
its huge seemingly empty spaces
throbbing with my music.
When you give up because I’m unimaginable
you’re closer.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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