They told me... Close your eyes... Picture God. So I did. I saw a face. Older than mountains. Eyes like fire. Hands reaching through the clouds. A throne. A voice. A king. It felt so real... I never thought to ask... Who painted that picture? Then... I opened the page. It didn't say... God has a face. It said... God... is Spirit. Spirit. Can you draw Spirit? Can you measure It? Can you point... to where It ends... and something else begins? If Spirit fills... heaven and earth... Whose eyes... are looking through mine? Whose breath... is filling my lungs? Whose life... beats beneath my heartbeat? Perhaps... I didn't meet God... I met... an image. An image... borrowed from imagination. Inherited through language. Repeated until it felt... like memory. But Spirit... needs no portrait. No age. No gender. No throne. No direction. No boundary. Only... Presence. The wind... has no face. Yet you know... when it touches you. Love... has no face. Yet you know... when it finds you. Life... has no face. Yet here you are. Perhaps... Spirit has always been... closer than thought. Nearer than every name. Before every image. Within every breath. So today... I lay down... every picture... that kept me... from seeing. And I step... into the mystery... without needing... to imagine... what cannot be contained. Spirit... was never... a face. Spirit... was always... the Life... looking through... mine.
