Annointing the Days

God inhales. I feel it; the blind reaction of humanity builds. I await the exhale and the resultant babel. What breath is on the wind? What tides will turn and tables topple? As above so the mirror from below reflects again distortion -- partial prisms: Ganglia twist the view and break the brilliance of lanterened time. Traces of truth, trailing love throw light inside Plato's cave. But here we sit wearing darkened lenses inside our intersected nows, alternating our shadowed views -- sharing pictographed realities. God inhales. The Alpha and the Omega images. The Comforter spreads incense essence. Humanity is lit. Time and Nature obey. There will be an exhale. So be it.