The Weight of Glory

A poem on the end of all things

The world is brimming with God's glory
every atom charged, jammed and bursting
and were we to be awake, attentive to it all
it might feel like the thundering force
of a galaxy being ripped apart 
or the inescapable pull of a black hole
we would sense danger and doom
light and joy, fear and freedom
every cell would shake and unravel
blood would boil, hearts would melt
and we would be, at best, undone

We are not ready for such a revelation
the vessel is too frail and thin
we could not bear the weight of glory
nor the sight, sound or distant thought
if the veil was truly lifted
it would mean the end of all things
as we know it to be
and, at once, the begenning 

But even still, such glory pours forth
not in whole but in part
like drops from the ocean
each containing whole worlds
breadcrumbs and reflections
able to sustain and reveal
though we see through a dim mirror
one day, we will be face to face
eye to eye with glory itself
and every atom within
will be freed to truly dance
and we will not be undone
not to our peril at least
but remade, born again
whole and finally alive

We cannot bear the weight of glory
but we are becoming those kind of people

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