To become a halo, a furious nimbus, prayed through eternity; edged to die, fleeing ghosts, a name in the Kingdom. An angelic star, winking at atmosphere, those with it, praise it. Blessed with beauty, artistic cries, reaching to cast a blessing. Digging deeper. Life is never enough. A driven spirit. A career woman. A mother. A wife. Fraught by saving grace. Faithful to intestines, at love with passion, infused by infinity. To get close to Awe—is to feel Awe’s sentimentality—such writhing at points, gripping one’s guts, hunched over, saliva pouring out, tears dropping, forehead moist with sweat, a humble cry! To have experience!
An inversion by addiction, needing Christ, an effusion into the universe—most radiant creature, surefire incandescent, suffering the greater joys. (Why do we speak that way?)
We would watch miracles, as profound souls, treading valleys, seated at the King’s table. To have solemnness—a deeper secret, a furtive element, a fireball racing through atmosphere; the risk for God, an anxiousness, all one desires. To become a halo, separated by nature of it, deserted it might seem, listening for a small whisper.
