That they bear their own unimaginable masses and weathers aloft, holding them up in the sky for anyone to see plain, makes them, as Chesterton said of the Eucharist, only the more mysterious by their very visibility and absence of secrecy. Esoteric Christianity, I read, posits a substance. All day long I feel created. I can see the blown dust on the skin on the back of my hand, the tiny trapezoids of chipped clay, moistened and breathed alive. Like boys on dolphins, the continents ride their crustal plates.
New lands shoulder up from the waves, and old lands buckle under.
The mountains tremble, the ice rasps back and forth, and the protoplasm furls in shock waves, up the rock valleys and down, ramifying possibilities, riddling the mountains. The planet spins, rapt inside its intricate mists. The galaxy is a flung thing, loose in the night, and our solar system is one of the many dotted campfires ringed with tossed rocks. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek Holy the Firm Teaching a Stone to Talk Thank you for visiting the EarthLight Magazine web site. We invite you to subscribe to EarthLight and receive a wide range of these informative and inspiring articles, reviews and interviews every three months.