God kneels beside us--as we lay face-down upon the floor pleading for Him to make Himself known to us-- waiting with holy all-creating all-encompassing arm hovered just inches above trembling shoulder blades the arm of YHWH upon our backs if only we would let go of fear that chest-tightening instinctual emotion set off by the very idea of another being materializing at our side, placing an arm around our shoulders, so much so that we would jerk upright and flash open eyes in that breath of a moment before an angel alights
the merry-go-round goes round and round and here I sit complacent--maybe-- in the center watching those around me live, become distant while I sit afraid to jump into the blurred unknown of the greater world though experience whispers the potential pain is worth it and really it's this small spot of comfort I sit on that streaks larger smudges upon my lens with every opportunity I pass up yet still I only stare at my unmoving knees and wonder how does anyone ever find North in this spinning mess