The voice of God cannot be mistaken for anything else. It is a quiet voice, that arises as from a distance, and speaks in square words. It is a voice of thunder, shaking the foundations of my soul, rending the veil that dims reality, causing the ground beneath me to shift and settle into a new configuration. It is like a warm breeze, a gentle rain, a laughing brook of dancing water; it is like a handful of spring-soft soil.
Other voices are pushy and loud. They constantly chatter a cynical litany of suspicion and sarcasm. Other voices patiently pick away at surety until its seams gape open and I am ruled by doubt and fear. Other voices are cruel, like the beaks of magpies, raucous and sharp as razors. Other voices are rusty and cold as anchor chains, pulling, weighing, dragging my spirit down.
But the voice of God, shakes me like a bear hug. It lifts me high and whizzes me around in a dizzying circle. The voice of God is simple and straight; it only ever means exactly what it says. The voice of God is the voice of a lover, liquid, and caressing with an unbearably gentle touch.
The voice of God opens clasps, balms wounds, and fills my spirit like wind in sails.
Whatever it is in me that fears, whatever it is in me that is small and hurting, whatever it is in me that believes the worst, is born of the poor sad voices of cowardice and despair. It is born of a world that claims ugliness and imperfection as its root value. The voice of God knows better.
Cobalt Dreams.
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