🌊∞☩ DRUNK ON THE COUNTLESS WORDS OF GOD ☩∞🌊

An Epic Poem of the Infinite Logos, the River-Seas, and the Soul That Could No Longer Survive on One Meaning

I. THE FIRST CUP

I drank one Word of God—

only one—

and lost the architecture of my sobriety.

I had believed a word was a little thing, a fence of sound, a handful of letters obediently kneeling inside a dictionary.

I had believed Love could be written once.

I had believed Mercy could be defined.

I had believed Truth was a lamp that fit comfortably inside the house of my mind.

Then God whispered—

and the whisper had oceans.

Then God spoke—

and the syllable broke open.

And within it I saw suns descending into suns,

heavens pregnant with heavens,

meanings bearing meanings,

doors concealing doors,

and every door opened not into a room

but into another immeasurable country where mountains had never heard the rumor of a summit.

I drank one Word of God—

and discovered I had swallowed a sea.

The sea became a river.

The river became a thousand rivers.

Each river became a scripture written in waters no hand had touched twice.

Each drop contained a language.

Each language contained worlds.

Each world contained one hidden letter from an alphabet the angels themselves had not finished learning.

And I said:

Lord, what have You given me?

And the Infinite answered:

Only the beginning.

II. THE TAVERN BEYOND THE STARS

There is a Tavern beyond the stars where no cup is emptied.

Do not ask me where it stands.

It stands wherever the finite reaches the edge of its vocabulary and trembles.

It stands behind the last proposition.

It stands beneath the foundations of every prison that has mistaken its walls for the circumference of reality.

It stands inside the zero-point.

It stands in the wound after the wound has exhausted every name it knows.

It stands in the sinner after condemnation has run out of imagination.

It stands in the void where Nothingness has grown arrogant.

And there—

O there—

the Cupbearer pours from vessels without bottom.

He pours Love until the tyrant remembers he was born small and crying.

He pours Liberty until the prison begins to dream of doors.

He pours Justice until punishment itself falls to its knees and asks to be taught healing.

He pours Truth until deception sees its own face and cannot bear the ugliness.

He pours Valor until the trembling rise.

He pours Glory until the humiliated remember that dust can become radiant.

He pours Power until the broken discover that strength is not domination but the holy ability to restore what hatred declared irredeemable.

I entered that Tavern with one mortal mouth.

I left with a thousand hungers.

I entered asking for certainty.

I left drunk on unfinishable wonder.

III. I SAW THE WORD “LOVE” OPEN

I saw the Word Love open.

God forgive me—

I had used it cheaply.

I had spent it like a coin worn smooth by too many careless hands.

But when it opened,

I saw mothers holding fevered children through the black hours.

I saw strangers enter burning houses.

I saw lovers learning the geography of one another’s fear.

I saw enemies laying down inherited swords.

I saw the lonely making room at their tables.

I saw the ashamed being looked upon without disgust.

I saw the dead remembered by name.

I saw the guilty dragged not toward annihilation but toward truth.

I saw justice wash blood from her hands and become a physician.

I saw mercy refuse to abandon either victim or sinner to the identities violence had carved into them.

I saw Love as gentleness.

I saw Love as war against the machinery of dehumanization.

I saw Love as bread.

As boundary.

As refusal.

As forgiveness.

As distance.

As return.

As discipline.

As shelter.

As unbearable tenderness.

As the strength to tell the truth when lies have become comfortable.

As the patience to remain beside a soul that has not yet learned how to come home.

Then every one of these Loves opened again.

And inside each one—

another infinity.

I drank.

O God, I drank.

And the little word I thought I knew

became a shoreless flood.

IV. I SAW THE WORD “LIBERTY” BREAK ITS CHAINS

Then came Liberty.

Not as a flag.

Not as a slogan.

Not as the property of one nation, one market, one party, one century.

Liberty came barefoot.

Liberty came with bruised wrists.

Liberty came carrying a ring of impossible keys.

She opened the cell of inherited fear.

She opened the cell of false identity.

She opened the cell of forced silence.

She opened the cell of the single story.

She opened the cell of the sentence:

This is all you will ever be.

And when the walls objected—

when the walls said,

There is no outside,

Liberty laughed.

Not cruelly.

But with the laughter of the Ocean hearing a bucket boast that it contains the sea.

Then she spoke one Word:

Another.

Another road.

Another name.

Another form.

Another meaning.

Another architecture.

Another future.

Another way of loving.

Another way of healing.

Another way of organizing power.

Another way of understanding the self.

Another way of being a world.

Another door the jailer did not include in the blueprint.

I drank the Word Liberty

and became dangerous to every system that survives by convincing the captive that imagination is treason.

V. THE INTOXICATION OF MEANING

I became drunk on Meaning.

Not meaning as explanation.

Not meaning as tidy doctrine.

Not meaning as the little coffin of a final answer.

I drank meaning until every stone became a question.

Until every question became a road.

Until every road became a pilgrimage toward a horizon that moved back lovingly as I approached.

I touched a tree and could no longer say merely:

Tree.

For within Tree was root.

Within root was darkness.

Within darkness was patience.

Within patience was time.

Within time was death.

Within death was soil.

Within soil was seed.

Within seed was hidden architecture.

Within architecture was form.

Within form was mathematics.

Within mathematics was mystery.

Within mystery was silence.

Within silence—

another Word.

I looked at a human face and could no longer say:

Stranger.

For within Stranger was childhood.

Within childhood was memory.

Within memory was wound.

Within wound was adaptation.

Within adaptation was survival.

Within survival was fear.

Within fear was love distorted.

Within love distorted was love still calling.

And behind the face—

unlived futures.

Unspoken griefs.

Private victories.

Impossible contradictions.

Rooms no visitor had entered.

Languages the person had not yet learned to speak about themselves.

I became drunk on Meaning

and lost forever the vulgar confidence of believing that what I named I had exhausted.

VI. THE COUNTLESS WORDS DESCEND

Then God opened Heaven.

Not the little heaven painted blue by exhausted imaginations.

The greater Heaven.

The Heaven behind heavens.

The Heaven that does not end but deepens.

And from it descended the Countless Words of God.

They came like rain upon every desert.

They came like meteors through the skull of despair.

They came like armies bearing no instruments of torture.

They came like physicians.

Like engineers.

Like poets.

Like insurgents against false finality.

Like angels with libraries for wings.

Some Words were bright.

Some were black with holy mystery.

Some burned.

Some cooled.

Some cut chains.

Some stitched wounds.

Some shattered idols.

Some taught the fragments how to recognize one another.

Some gave names to suffering that had remained invisible because no language yet existed to testify to it.

Some entered children before trauma could become destiny.

Some entered tyrants and exposed the terrified infant hidden beneath the armor.

Some entered battlefields and whispered:

There are futures here that no weapon can imagine.

Some entered courts and demanded justice.

Some entered prisons and demanded doors.

Some entered hospitals and demanded healing.

Some entered temples and demanded humility.

Some entered universities and demanded wonder.

Some entered governments and demanded accountability.

Some entered lonely bedrooms and simply said:

You are not abandoned.

And some—

O terrible mercy—

entered Hell.

VII. WHEN THE WORDS ENTERED HELL

Hell had built itself upon one proposition:

Nothing new can happen here.

Its gates were forged from finality.

Its fires were fed by repetition.

Its chains were made from names that could not be revised.

Monster.

Damned.

Worthless.

Forever.

Then the first Divine Word crossed the threshold.

Hell laughed.

The Word said:

Healing.

Hell burned hotter.

A second Word came:

Truth.

A third:

Repentance.

A fourth:

Restoration.

A fifth:

Transformation.

A sixth:

Another Beginning.

Then ten thousand Words.

Then ten million.

Then infinities.

Words entered the fire and did not burn.

Words entered the darkness and became eyes.

Words entered the sinner and found the machinery of malice.

They named every cog.

Every wound.

Every lie.

Every terror.

Every hunger.

Every humiliation transmuted into cruelty.

Every system that had rewarded violence.

Every ideology that had baptized hatred.

Every secret place where the being had once chosen darkness and called it strength.

The Words did not excuse.

They illuminated.

They did not flatter.

They healed by truth.

They broke the sinner open not to throw him away

but to remove from him everything that made him love destruction.

And Hell screamed:

You cannot do this. He is what he is.

The Logos answered:

He is not finished.

Hell said:

The wound is eternal.

The Logos answered:

The wound is real, but it is not God.

Hell said:

The past owns him.

The Logos answered:

The past has happened. It does not possess every future.

Then the River-Seas came.

And I swear—

if I have ever sworn anything true—

the fires learned they were not infinite.

VIII. DRUNK ON PURPOSE

I drank Purpose next.

O dangerous wine.

For I had thought Purpose meant one task.

One destiny.

One narrow road with cliffs on either side.

But Divine Purpose was not a chain.

It was a galaxy of invitations.

I saw one life serve ten thousand goods.

I saw one sorrow become warning.

Witness.

Compassion.

Art.

Knowledge.

Solidarity.

Protection.

I saw one talent become a bridge between worlds.

I saw one mistake become humility.

One humiliation become refusal to humiliate others.

One survival become shelter.

One question become a school.

One book become a civilization inside a reader the author would never meet.

I saw that Purpose could recurse.

Purpose within purpose.

Mission within mission.

Gift within gift.

The act of healing one wound preventing ten.

The teaching of one child changing descendants not yet conceived.

A single kindness altering the emotional weather of a room.

A room altering a family.

A family altering a generation.

A generation altering what a civilization believes possible.

I drank Purpose

and became unable to call anything small merely because its consequences were hidden.

IX. DRUNK ON VALUE

Then God poured Value.

And the empires became nervous.

For empires prefer a measurable worth.

A wage.

A rank.

A utility.

A bloodline.

A passport.

A diagnosis.

A record.

A reputation.

A number.

But Value came like ungovernable gold.

It flooded the forgotten.

The old.

The poor.

The disabled.

The prisoner.

The refugee.

The strange.

The unseen.

The child who could produce nothing.

The dying who could no longer perform.

The person whose name would never be carved into stone.

And God said:

You have mistaken price for worth.

Then every discarded being opened like a cosmos.

And within each one were inaccessible histories.

Unrepeatable perceptions.

Unlived possibilities.

Unique relations.

Private meanings.

Irreplaceable angles from which reality had looked upon itself.

I drank Value

and could no longer understand the theology of the trash heap.

I became sick at the thought of disposable souls.

I saw the garbage systems of civilization—

all the places where beings are thrown away because repair is difficult.

And I cried:

Lord, teach us an ethics advanced enough to make disposal obsolete.

The Infinite answered:

Drink deeper.

X. DRUNK ON UTILITY

Then came Utility—

not the gray utility of machines asking what a thing is for,

but Divine Utility:

the infinity of possible uses hidden within every Word.

A Word became a key.

The key became a compass.

The compass became a mirror.

The mirror became a warning.

The warning became a protocol.

The protocol became a school.

The school became a movement.

The movement became a refuge.

The refuge became a seed.

The seed became a forest.

The forest became climate.

The climate became life.

The life became a witness.

The witness spoke another Word.

And again—

the cycle opened.

I saw Truth used as sword.

As shield.

As medicine.

As map.

As cleansing water.

As alarm.

As bridge.

As foundation.

As liberation.

I saw Mercy used not to weaken justice but to complete it.

I saw Anger used as signal without making it king.

I saw Fear used as information without making it commander.

I saw Grief used as testimony that love had existed.

I saw Pain turned into knowledge without worshipping suffering.

I saw language become equipment.

I saw concepts become tools.

I saw metaphors become vehicles for carrying minds across impossible distances.

I became drunk on Utility

and every Word grew handles.

XI. DRUNK ON POWER

Then Power arrived.

I feared it.

For I had seen power with boots on necks.

Power in uniforms.

Power in palaces.

Power with prisons.

Power speaking softly while entire peoples disappeared.

But the Power of God came differently.

It came kneeling.

It washed feet.

It entered wounds.

It bore weight.

It defended children.

It stood between predator and prey.

It said No when cowardice called itself peace.

It said Enough when domination called itself order.

It raised the fallen.

It strengthened the trembling.

It taught the powerless to organize.

It taught the frightened to breathe.

It taught the wounded to set boundaries.

It taught the oppressed that endurance is not consent.

It taught the strong that strength without love is merely sophisticated weakness.

Then I understood:

The highest Power is not the ability to destroy what resists you.

The highest Power is the ability to restore what hatred declared irredeemable.

The ability to create futures where none appeared.

The ability to hold immense force without becoming a tyrant.

The ability to descend into darkness without becoming dark.

The ability to remain tender without becoming fragile.

I drank Power

and my thirst for domination died.

XII. DRUNK ON SACREDNESS

Then the Sacred poured.

The priests had told me the sacred was scarce.

A room.

A day.

A book.

A garment.

A mountain.

A name.

But God was not poor.

And therefore the sacred was not rare.

I saw holiness flood kitchen tables.

Bus stations.

Hospital corridors.

Factory floors.

Prison yards.

Bodies.

Tears.

Laughter.

Arguments honestly repaired.

Apologies without excuses.

Bread divided.

Hands washed.

Animals sheltered.

Enemies humanized without danger being denied.

I saw the sacred inside ordinary endurance.

Inside the worker who rose tired and went again.

Inside the survivor who refused to become what hurt them.

Inside the lonely who remained kind.

Inside the doubter who still sought truth.

Inside the sinner who finally stopped lying.

Inside the victim who reclaimed a future.

Inside every small zero-point ignored by systems that worship scale.

And I heard:

The sacred is not rare because God is not poor.

I drank.

And the whole world became too precious for casual contempt.

XIII. DRUNK ON BEAUTY

Beauty came next,

and ruined ugliness’s empire.

Not by denying horror.

Not by painting flowers over graves.

But by revealing that horror could not monopolize perception.

I saw beauty in symmetry.

Then beauty in broken symmetry.

In scars.

In weathered faces.

In mathematical proof.

In improvised music.

In cities at dawn.

In wolves crossing snow.

In strangers laughing in languages I could not speak.

I saw beauty in courage that no camera recorded.

In restraint.

In repair.

In the moment a person interrupted an inherited cycle of cruelty.

I saw beauty in the first honest sentence after years of deception.

In the first meal after hunger.

In the first safe sleep after terror.

In a former enemy choosing restitution.

In a mind learning to distrust its own certainty.

In diversity coloring reality.

In difference saving the world from one monotonous voice.

I drank Beauty

until I understood that sameness is a kind of blindness.

XIV. DRUNK ON HOLINESS

Then Holiness came,

and I discovered I had misunderstood purity.

Holiness was not the fear of contamination.

It was not fragility dressed in white.

It was not a trembling before the existence of complicated people.

Holiness entered hospitals.

Prisons.

Battlefields.

Ruins.

Addiction wards.

Grief rooms.

Political disasters.

Theologies gone rotten.

Holiness was strong enough to touch what suffered.

Strong enough to confront what lied.

Strong enough to love without surrendering discernment.

Strong enough to forgive without calling evil good.

Strong enough to demand accountability without worshipping revenge.

Strong enough to become clean without becoming cruel.

And every summit of holiness opened into a higher ascent.

No frozen perfection.

No celestial stagnation.

No final plateau.

Only beginnings upon beginnings.

The holy became holier.

The beautiful more beautiful.

The loving more loving.

The liberated more capable of deeper liberty.

I drank Holiness

and began falling upward.

XV. THE HOLY BLACK HOLE

Then I saw God as a Holy Black Hole.

Forgive the metaphor.

All metaphors break near Infinity.

But I saw the soul cross the horizon.

I saw every finite certainty bend.

I saw time become strange.

I saw the traveler fall inward forever—

not toward annihilation,

but toward inexhaustible density of Glory.

Every descent was ascent.

Every arrival was beginning.

Every union increased longing.

Every satisfaction expanded capacity.

The closer the soul came,

the more Infinite the Infinite became.

Not because God changed,

but because the soul was endlessly enlarged to receive what could never be exhausted.

And I—

drunk on the Countless Words—

fell laughing.

Past doctrine.

Past image.

Past language.

Past all the little gods manufactured by frightened certainty.

I fell.

And every depth said:

Deeper.

Every Heaven said:

Higher.

Every Beginning said:

Begin again.

XVI. THE SEVEN THRONES DRINK WITH ME

Then I entered the House.

The Sovereign’s Flower.

The Lord’s Star.

The Palace of the Seven Thrones.

And there they stood.

Not static.

Not exhausted.

Each an Epektatic Throne—

approachable forever,

enterable forever,

deepenable forever.

LOVE

I drank from Love and found infinite forms of tenderness that had never yet occurred.

LIBERTY

I drank from Liberty and saw doors being invented while prisoners were still searching for them.

GLORY

I drank from Glory and every humiliated thing began shining with futures invisible to contempt.

POWER

I drank from Power and learned to become difficult to destroy without becoming eager to destroy.

JUSTICE

I drank from Justice until Justice remembered Mercy and became wise enough to heal causes, repair damage, protect the vulnerable, and refuse to throw away the broken.

TRUTH

I drank from Truth and my favorite illusions died screaming.

Then Truth kissed my forehead and said:

Do not fear investigation.

VALOR

I drank from Valor and courage became not absence of fear,

but the refusal to crown fear commander-in-chief.

The Thrones turned.

Each opened.

Each contained infinite forms of itself.

And every form contained further forms.

And I knew:

I could spend eternities inside Love

and never repeat the same tenderness twice.

XVII. THE RIVER-SEAS

Then came the River-Seas.

Countless.

Bottomless.

Shoreless.

Never the same water twice.

The River-Sea of Mercy.

The River-Sea of Transformation.

The River-Sea of Living Light.

The River-Sea of Unknown Meanings.

The River-Sea of Futures suffering had not anticipated.

The River-Sea of Languages not yet born.

The River-Sea of Healed Enemies.

The River-Sea of Restored Worlds.

The River-Sea beneath every prison.

I entered.

I lost my rigid shape.

I became fluid.

Not weak.

Never weak.

Water can cradle.

Water can cleanse.

Water can carve stone.

Water can enter cracks armies cannot.

Water can become mist.

Ice.

Rain.

River.

Flood.

Ocean.

I learned the creed:

You cannot kill a river by stabbing it.

And I laughed at every adversity that had trained for only one version of me.

XVIII. THE WORDS INSIDE THE WORDS

Then the recursion revealed itself.

God spoke Mercy.

Inside Mercy:

Truth.

Inside Truth:

Recognition.

Inside Recognition:

Attention.

Inside Attention:

Presence.

Inside Presence:

Love.

Inside Love:

Courage.

Inside Courage:

Sacrifice.

Inside Sacrifice:

Value.

Inside Value:

Sacredness.

Inside Sacredness:

Wonder.

Inside Wonder:

Question.

Inside Question:

Possibility.

Inside Possibility:

Liberty.

Inside Liberty:

Becoming.

Inside Becoming:

Transformation.

Inside Transformation:

Newness.

Inside Newness:

Another Word.

I entered that Word.

And the whole Infinity began again.

I screamed:

Lord, where is the bottom?

God answered:

Why do you still seek a bottom in Me?

XIX. I BECAME A DRUNKARD OF DIVINE SEMANTICS

So yes—

call me drunk.

I confess it.

I am drunk on the Countless Words of God.

Drunk on meanings too numerous for despair to censor.

Drunk on purposes suffering did not foresee.

Drunk on values no market can price.

Drunk on utilities hidden inside broken tools.

Drunk on powers that do not need victims.

Drunk on sacredness spilling into ordinary places.

Drunk on beauty that survives the wound.

Drunk on holiness that climbs forever.

I stagger between infinities.

I slur the language of impossible hope.

I raise my cup to condemned things and whisper:

You may not be finished.

I raise my cup to dead systems and say:

You are not necessity.

I raise my cup to prisons:

There may be another door.

I raise my cup to despair:

You have counted only the possibilities you can see.

I raise my cup to the void:

The Word has not finished speaking.

XX. THE SOBER ONES MOCK ME

The sober ones mock me.

They say:

Be realistic.

I ask:

Whose reality?

The prison’s?

The tyrant’s?

The wound’s?

The market’s?

The empire’s?

The century’s?

The present configuration’s?

They say:

People do not change.

I have seen change.

They say:

Systems are permanent.

I have walked ruins where permanent systems became tourist attractions.

They say:

The sinner is his sin.

I have seen human beings become strangers to their former cruelty.

They say:

Nothing can be done.

I ask:

Have you searched all Divine Words?

All meanings?

All purposes?

All tools?

All relations?

All strategies?

All unknown futures?

All undiscovered sciences?

All unimagined institutions?

All languages not yet invented?

All forms of courage not yet practiced?

All medicines not yet synthesized?

All possibilities hidden in the Infinite?

No?

Then do not speak to me of finality.

I am drunk,

but perhaps your despair is the greater intoxication.

XXI. THE GREAT FLOOD OF LANGUAGE

Then God overturned the Cup.

The whole Cup.

And Language flooded reality.

Not one language.

Countless.

Every star received Words.

Every atom.

Every wound.

Every prison.

Every universe.

Every empty place.

Every silence.

Every zero-point.

The smallest point opened its mouth.

And from it poured Semantic Oceanic Infinity.

Meaning.

Purpose.

Value.

Utility.

Power.

Sacredness.

Beauty.

Holiness.

Each infinite.

Each recursive.

Each containing further Words.

And every Word an infinity of Words.

And every one of those another infinity.

And so on.

And so on—

until “so on” became itself a staircase without summit.

The Totality became Logos-Saturated.

No metaphysical slums.

No abandoned coordinates.

No meaningless crumbs beneath the table of being.

Everywhere—

Words.

Worlds.

Rivers.

Doors.

Beginnings.

XXII. THE ZERO-POINT SINGS

Then the smallest zero-point sang.

No one had noticed it.

No empire wanted it.

No historian recorded it.

No telescope named it.

But the Infinite entered.

And the point became an Ocean.

It sang:

I am not abandoned.

It sang:

I am not exhausted.

It sang:

I am not finished.

It sang:

The Logos has reached even here.

And all the great galaxies fell silent

because the smallest point had spoken with the voice of Infinity.

XXIII. THE FINAL INTOXICATION

At last, I asked God for water.

Just water.

No ecstasy.

No revelation.

No abyss.

No throne.

No recursion.

I said:

**Lord, I am tired.

Give me one simple thing.**

God gave me a cup of water.

I looked.

Inside the water were hydrogen and oxygen.

Inside hydrogen were particles.

Inside particles were fields.

Inside fields were laws.

Inside laws were mathematical relations.

Inside mathematics were structures.

Inside structures were patterns.

Inside patterns were symmetries.

Inside symmetries were questions.

Inside questions were philosophies.

Inside philosophies were worlds.

Inside worlds were beings.

Inside beings were stories.

Inside stories were wounds.

Inside wounds were possibilities.

Inside possibilities were Words.

Inside Words—

Infinity.

I began laughing.

God laughed too.

I said:

You have cheated.

God answered:

I gave you water.

XXIV. MY LAST PRAYER BEFORE I LOSE SPEECH

So now,

before language becomes too luminous for my mouth,

before the Words multiply beyond grammar,

before I fall again into the Holy Black Depth,

let me pray:

O God of Countless Words,

save me from the poverty of one meaning.

Save me from the arrogance of final definitions.

Save me from the prison of single stories.

Save me from every system that calls its limits the limits of Reality.

Teach me to see oceans inside names.

Teach me to see futures inside ruins.

Teach me to see healing inside justice.

Teach me to see accountability without disposal.

Teach me to see strength without domination.

Teach me to see holiness without cruelty.

Teach me to see the sinner without denying the sin.

Teach me to see the victim without reducing them to the wound.

Teach me to see the enemy without surrendering discernment.

Teach me to see the zero-point without calling it nothing.

Teach me to become drunk on every Divine Word that makes a prison less absolute.

XXV. EPILOGUE: I AM STILL DRINKING

Do not ask me whether I have finished.

I have not finished the first cup.

I am still somewhere inside the Word Love.

Still descending.

Still ascending.

Still discovering that every chamber contains another horizon.

Sometimes I hear the other Words calling.

Liberty.

Mercy.

Truth.

Valor.

Justice.

Glory.

Power.

Healing.

Transformation.

Restoration.

Becoming.

Another.

And I know eternity will not be enough to exhaust them.

Thank God.

Thank God eternity will not be enough.

For I do not desire a Heaven that can be completed.

I do not desire a God who can be summarized.

I do not desire a Love that reaches the end of its tenderness.

I do not desire a Beauty with a final form.

I do not desire a Holiness with nowhere higher to rise.

Give me beginnings upon beginnings.

Give me oceans inside droplets.

Give me Words inside Words.

Give me infinities inside infinities.

Give me the River-Seas.

Give me the Seven Thrones.

Give me the Holy Black Hole.

Give me the Flood.

Give me the Logos unexhausted.

Give me one more Word.

Then one more.

Until I stagger through eternity,

laughing,

weeping,

burning,

healing,

becoming,

forever unable to recover

from the unbearable beauty

of having discovered

that God

has not

run out

of things

to say.

🌊∞☩

I AM DRUNK ON THE COUNTLESS WORDS OF GOD.

AND EVERY WORD IS AN OCEAN.

AND EVERY OCEAN CONTAINS FURTHER WORDS.

AND EVERY WORD OPENS AGAIN.

AND EVERY OPENING BECOMES A BEGINNING.

AND EVERY BEGINNING CALLS:

DEEPER.

HIGHER.

FURTHER.

ANOTHER.

🌊 THE WORD IS NOT EXHAUSTED.

∞ THE OCEAN HAS NO FINAL SHORE.

☩ THE INFINITE HAS NOT FINISHED SPEAKING.

AND I AM STILL DRINKING.

🌊
∞
☩
∞
🌊