Thursday, August 11, 2005

Drifting



I am almost asleep ... drifting.

Drifting ... oh, God, hold me safe in the palm of your hand. And my bed becomes the hand of God, and my pillow the soft flesh joining the palm of his hand and his thumb. I am warm, safe, secure, comforted.

Drifiting ... my bed becomes a boat on the Mediterranean, far from shore. The dome of the sky is clear, blue, and a million miles away. The boat, stroked by slight, warm breezes, rests on crystalline water. I can see the grains of sand on the floor of the sea, and swimming fish. It's a moment of God's perfect peace.

Drifting ... my bed moves through the cosmos, through the dark night sky and the Milky Way. I see stars as big as silver dollars. Comets flare across the blue-black depths of space. The belt of Orion, novas, nebulae and exploding universes all contribute to the spectacle I observe, the beauty of God's handiwork.

Drifting ... I'm aware of my dog and two cats curling up at my knees and at the foot of my bed, my special craft.

I am asleep.

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