The moon, a half crescent that night, threw a glowing reflection rippling across the sea’s rolling waves, a single white streak painted crudely across the black canvas of the ocean.

I’ve seen beautiful things, I'd say. I’ve seen them in all shapes and sizes and settings, in a hundred different lights and from a thousand different perspectives. And one of the lessons I’ve learned from them is that all true wonders and beauties of the world, no matter how grand or how subtle, can be at least meagerly described in words, so that when the reality of all its glory in the moment fades, we’ll have at least some tangible evidence of the experience to pull out from the filing cabinets of our past memories, to remind us of what it was like. But it seems that to try to communicate the experience, not just a description of the thing that caused the experience but the experience itself, is by all means impossible. If I tell you something is fuzzy and you've never heard of this "fuzzy" term before, the only way for me to help you understand is to let you touch something fuzzy, to let you feel this fuzziness for yourself. But when we turn from physical descriptions of things to abstract concepts such as love or hopelessness or anguish, where is one to start? We can only attempt to illustrate the context in which this “love” or this “hopelessness” might be experienced and describe the ways it affects people who have experienced it themselves, in hopes of striking a familiar chord within the person you’re trying to explain the concept to. There is absolutely no direct, explicit method of conveying an understanding of a thing one can only come to know experientially. Language will forever fail to ever effectively do at higher levels what it was created to do, to communicate. This is the grim dilemma which i believe art, in essence, attempts to appease, to express in humanly comprehensible terms, through the eyes and ears, that which cannot be explicitly explained. But what great thing in all the earth has ever been truly captured, in words or pictures or paintings or songs, to be conveyed and communicated so easily to others, to be relived in a mere concept, image or thought? None... And how much greater is the God of universe, the Creator and Sustainer. When we enter into the presence of God, who is not of this world, who is utterly set apart from it, who is Holy, nothing we have is physically capable of perceiving Him. Even now, looking back, there is absolutely nothing about that night when I say I first met Him that today convinces me through sound reason that it was a genuine encounter. In fact, there isn’t anything about any of the nights in which I claim to have been met by God that would rationally convince me that I had in fact met God—nothing. Yes, I felt something in the moment, a rising in spirit, but it is impossible for me to even try to begin explaining it in words, even to myself. And when I try to think about what I experienced, all I can gather is that it was a generally “good” sort of feeling. I don’t even remember what I felt at most of those times, if I even really felt anything at all.Yet I can write this now as an unflinching believer because I do not base my beliefs on the recollection of an experience or my ability to explain to anyone, including myself, just what happens when God meets you; I base them upon and the present reality of His presence dwelling eternally within and around and upon me, His meeting with me now in this very moment and the indelible faithfulness and evident handiwork of His Spirit along the path of my life and in my heart. And these are the greatest of treasures. Yet still, sometimes I wish words could do more, that they could dance and cry and rage and fly and fall and bleed and laugh and scream because I want to tell you what it’s like to be alive and living life, but alas, I worship a God who is holy. He is completely, entirely, absolutely and wholly holy, set apart from all things. He is above words and language, beyond my thoughts or any of my senses of perception; He transcends comprehension. I might wish I had the eloquence and strength of rhetoric to justly address the Holiness of our mighty God, that any man could, but he who would dare to do so would only find himself at a loss, in inevitable and ultimate silence, for words would never suffice.

..and who has known me but God?

incoherency is my forte.

sigh.

i once heard that the words we lift toward God are so beautiful in His ears, that He would go to any length to hear them. He would silence the sounds of nature, hush the angels' song, even quell the infinite ballad of the universe just to listen to your broken voice calling out to Him, your whispered prayer of desperation, the silent cries from your wounded soul... just to hear a single word of love breathed through your lips.

and a million times i sing,   i love You, Lord

The earth is still in silent slumber; dawn has yet to break. The room is empty, and a pale morning twilight floats in from a window hanging across from me at the other end of the room. The floorboards moan as I approach to peer outside. What treasures await my tired eyes? Behold, I see distant mountains standing tall in regal poise like mystics of old, full of wisdom and thoughts of far away places, wrapped in a sea of quiet trees and cloaked in a soft, lingering mist that creeps out from within the mountain depths and stretches back beyond them, an endless veil shrouding a world yet unseen. The sight bids me wonder what hidden things might hide in its secret places, because I know within my heart that it longs to be searched, for there is no thing in all the universe that does not long to be found, to be known. An icy chill grazes my skin and stabs a fear in me that creeps up my spine like an old witch's finger, a fear that I'm alone, unknown. But the touch of a most familiar hand rests warmly on my shoulder, reminding me of all that I truly long for: the purest truth dwelling within my innermost, this deepest mystery, this love that unravels and reveals itself to me as I wait upon it. The first rays of life burst out from behind the horizon, and as I attempt to turn around, my senses fail and the scene slowly fades away as I realize that this touch was... I awaken to a strange and unfriendly world that won't wait for me, that has long forgotten me, a place where the sun shines solely in shades of grey. It was a short dream, this bliss. And yet, His touch remains.