Alone . . . bathed in the quiet awe of my surroundings.
Imaginations fade. Contemplation floats through the nebulae of my soul,
until it is infused with the basic elements of praise, and becomes the purest form of
Worship.
A Fellowship forms, defying definition by words or feelings,
penetrating far deeper than emotions, merging into the rawest form of communication.
A uniting of being.
Closer than hearts beating, it becomes an unsung melody, a perfect tune and ever in sync.
Love and harmony intertwining into one song, until it pierces the very essence of Time,
reaching far into Eternity.
Still emersed in the quiet awe of my surroundings, I am no longer alone.
A sigh escapes. My heart sings.
Yet I must wait still, in the watchful silence of expectation.
Maranatha,
Lord . . .