Life is brief, the shifts in colour bewildering, disturbing, and our lightning reactions wild and violent, never far from uncertainty – would we rather not destroy the whole magnificent show to achieve rest, there’s a desperate need to find relief from the imposed torture. Yet the act of creation is an act of hope, an act of hope despite knowing that bricks will soon be splintering the windows . . .
Surely it’s a gigantic hoax, a con . . . can God (what, who??) be serious? Is he/she/it laughing at us?
To be gifted the divine consciousness, awareness of the glory of this world and at the same time self-awareness . . . to be so hungry . . . yet it all fits together perfectly – a perfect trap? – our hunger in the face of beauty, aware that our hunger will destroy the beauty cranks up the drama, intensifies the beauty, makes us ever more hungry.
Oh, how will it all end, we wail, but let’s think about it for a moment, surely in the act of creation we hold the world in being.
What’s that you say? You’re hungry?
I know, that's what I was afraid of.