Between the Breath and the Flame



I asked the wind,

“Where does God dwell?”

It whispered through the hollow of my ribs,

“In the echo you mistake for loneliness.”

I turned to the sea and said,

“Speak to me of the Almighty,”

And it laughed like a mother with ancient eyes:

“You have never been apart from Him—

only unaware, like a flame forgetting its fire.”

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Man builds temples with stone,

but God carves sanctuaries in silence.

We seek Him in skyward towers,

yet He waits patiently

in the stillness between our thoughts.

O Man—

you pray with trembling lips,

as if God were a tyrant to be appeased.

But He is not thunder nor punishment.

He is the tear you shed

without knowing why.

He is the hunger that bread cannot satisfy,

the thirst untouched by rivers.

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We fear His judgment,

forgetting He is the one who taught us love—

not as possession,

but as the art of surrender.

God speaks not in commandments,

but in paradox:

To gain, lose.

To know, unlearn.

To live, die a thousand times

to the ego that cages the soul.

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Once, in a dream, I stood before Him.

I bore my sins like chains,

expecting rebuke.

But He only touched my heart

and said,

“Did you think I loved you

for your perfection?”

And in that moment,

I knew:

We do not climb to God.

We remember Him—

like a child remembers

the scent of home.

---

So do not look to the stars alone—

Look to the beggar,

the breathless child,

the mirror.

God is not far;

He is folded within you,

like the seed is folded with the tree,

the wave with the ocean.

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O Man—

walk gently upon this earth.

It is not only soil beneath your feet,

but the body of the One

you have always sought.

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