I ncreasing in time and distance, pushing back, back, back and forward again,
N ever finding a beginning or an ending. It is like the game I used to play as a kid,
F illing my mind with as much intentional emptiness as I could, pushing, pushing to see
I f I could drive my way back to where there is
N othing.
I t never quite worked because somewhere in this exercise my brain would stop—just stop.
T oo full of thoughts to be empty, expanding space. Too busy and impatient to persevere to the end of my self. Vanity. Human.
E ver seeking the end of things, the majesty where God lives and where He finds it in Himself to love even me.
Apronhead 