There is a place past walls. Though I have barely touched it, still it awaits me. To bathe in the love of God ... past longing, past war, alone in infinite space. A wind of light through what once I called my self, behind, suspending the self in it, rendering what I was transparent until all I am is that through which God's love unfolds, through which God's will be done.
This, then, is the extravagant landscape of the world, given, given with pizzazz, given in good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over.
