Strolling leisurely through a vast realm of nothingness
Ahead appears a whirling vortex of static,
Flashing specs of black, gray and white pulsating, alive.
Glancing several feet above at the pinnacle, questioning
Why is it here? What is it’s meaning?

Ambling around the outskirts of the throbbing pile,
At a loss for understanding; then choosing to venture on,
When one last glance over a shoulder brings revelation.
It is God. Alive and calling.
An infinite Being that cannot be defined.

The static is all of the attempts of humanity to cry out.
All the words ever written or spoken captured and added to the mass.
Every spec created for pointing to the One who loves each of us.
The vortex can morph, recompile as we each need.
That we may have what is necessary to BELIEVE.