What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?
I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
I remember now another time (another dream?). I walked in a grey void where a stirring wind was breaking against my body. I heard a sad and distressing groan, whereupon I turned and beheld a great creature crawling as if its energy was spent in the agony of labour. As I gazed upon it, and studied it, and began to notice the details of its assemblage, I saw constellations and quasars. I saw worlds and kingdoms, and I realised with great certainty that the creature was creation itself. The deeper I looked, the more I saw. I was a witness to the fall of the first man and woman and the birth, life, and death of Christ. I saw too the efforts of men, great and small. I witnessed the world at war, the sacking of Troy, the fall of Greece, the dividing of the continents, and much more. And, while I could see them all at once, these events did not seem to happen before or after one another. I then turned my attention to the creature’s face. In it’s eyes were great tears and, from its mouth, a groan for the final, complete deliverance from the pain of it’s labour echoed again and again. The creature was moving slower and slower, and in the deep recesses of its eyes (which were cast towards its creator) I saw that it was weary of its own life. I felt restless and again full of questions.
But then the great void rolled away and before me was a rich, green meadow. Upon a distant hill I beheld him who is the beginning and the ending, the first and the last. He was beautiful to gaze upon, too beautiful for mere words. I can only say that his beauty had a way of making the beholder feel beautiful. I saw him in permanence and substance that made the creature appear ghostlike, and my curiosity was exchanged for longing. My questions became instantly irrelevant. The one who stood upon the hill called me…and I followed.
