The sound ranges out like underwater mountains, summits smoothed by rain falling through rain through deeper rain. In the nearness small fish flash and turn turn and flash flash and turn. But the mountains in the background are still in the background, and something moves along the dip and dome of ridge. It is like the moon, no, Neptune lapping earth one and a half times in this our life. It takes the deep keen ear and the gray heart of the Other to hear it, the way you have to turn into earth to feel earth turn.
Faith has a slow pulse.
Monks may know, or those in steady pain. We met every two years. But now the undulation of our joy lengthens to ten. Around us, our own lives flash. Flash, and turn away from this Other thing whose crest and depth undoes us.