How can anyone doubt that there is a god? One has only to look upwards at the sky, arching overhead, stretching benevolently into infinity. Contained yet so much beyond us. It is not our realm, this sky. What a ridiculously insignificant word for such a symphony. And how awesome its fickleness of mood. One moment blue as calm white puffs of cloud glide contentedly riding the wind. The next grey, filled with ominous warning. Dark armies scudding overhead, gathering in the growing dark, preparing for unknown wars. See now the blindness of the night sky- in itself a paradox, black tarpaulin studded with pinholes of light, or yet again split by a more blinding streak of powerful masculine writing. Stealing that which it does not own. Robbing the virgin sky of its chastity as it rips through to the ground. Plundering, leaving the earth sobbing, the sky weeping tears of shame.
But oh rain can be victorious too! And the sky at raintime is a celebration, how can you question that it is?
Felix gives me scientific reasons for all this glory. I nod, outwardly fascinated. Inside my soul laughs. Foolish little man. You can only explain that which you see. How can you ever comprehend the live power of my mother sky?
Only look up, little man. Away from your footsteps, away from your streets, away from your walls and buildings. But look up. Stand, arms outstretched, heart open, throat open, head thrust upward. Look up little man. And then close your eyes. I swear you will feel my mother sky embrace you. And then you will weep, as she does for you.
How can you explain away your feelings as you turn to the sky? The connection you sense with something you can never touch?
My darling, it is the hand of god.
15th August, 2005