1,000 Perfect Day

When I'm busiest I write the least, and I love to write, to let some truth be drawn up from the depths through the words that fall from my mind. Notes tinkering down onto the clear screen. Hands free to express the feelings of my heart.

I've been surrounded by such beauty it's almost unreal, and my photos are just a glimpse at the surface of the glory of creation, a snapshot in the mirror of the sky, frozen moments of life held now forever, the shortest flash given immortality.

One day this sphere, this globe, this haven in which we all live, will explode, the sky will roll up like a scroll, the mountains and earth with fall away, the seas will boil and we'll be caught up, all of us in Christ, into the sky, as He comes on the clouds with the glory of his Name, angels all around, and miles high, free to fly, euphoric, all we can fix our eyes on from this perfection of a vantage point, is our King, radiant like the sun, close as a breath, powerful as the weight of the universe, holy like melt-water in a mountain stream, sweet as spring rain, as honey on my lips, real as the truth in our hearts. One day I'll rise up, from death or life, to join with countless others, to fall at his feet, to cry true tears of redemption, tears of love, of joy. And as the prayers of the saints fragrance the dry air, our tears will cascade down onto the burning earth to bring peace and new life, a new city, a new home. Our true home. One day I'll long for nothing, but now I long just for that day.

The ocean, seas and lakes speak of heaven, of the great unknown, a mysterious world that we feel we own, but fear. Something that's too vast to contain in our boxed-up minds. It gives life and takes it at will, and we're powerless to fight against it. Deep down, in hellish depths, mysterious creatures roam the ocean floor, living off the dead life from above, crushed in darkness and chill water, dreaming of the rumoured surface with its waves and strange vessels.

I've been on the surface, swimming, enjoying the waves, dreaming of distant depths. At the beach down from Start Point I got away for the first time in weeks, 10 minutes of blissful aloneness, just me with my thoughts and prayers, just me the sea and God. Rocks hiding me from my friends, all stealing our own piece of freedom. Returning, as from a long journey, I know how much I love these guys who share my life, and I'm glad to be together. We spend an hour playing with the tide, waiting for the waves to crash close to the rocks we stand on. An overload of favourite sounds, pebbles being dragged reluctantly back down the beach by receding waves, foamed water tricking slowly down the stubborn rocks having smashed its last ounce of energy on the hard shore, the deep thump of squashed air as a wave collides at full tilt with unexpected stone, and, best of all, the faint splash of a thousand thousand drops of shattered water, thrown up through the air to surround us, a soft salty breeze lives for long enough to blow the spray over us, into us, through us, and then it falls like ever shifting snow onto the raging surface, joining once more with the sea after its vain effort to fly. But my spirit is lifted on this wind, if I never heard another word, this musical feast would always fill me.

Tonight we swam in a lake of cold burning gold, the sun melting soft metal onto the surface of the sea at Bantham. Long, warm waves gently lift us from the shallow water as a pack of surfers wait for some breakers, our toes reaching for the soft sand under cold, clear water. A hundred sunsets reflect in the serendipitous calm, lighting our eyes and imaginations, thousands of tropical fish swarm around our feet, I glimpse their bright colours through the shallow sea, we strike out for the hidden shore of France, swim down to the centre of the earth, holding our breath for hours, a magical journey through chasms filled with pearls and unheard of treasures. I turn my head back to shore and am shocked to see the sun has died, the water lies in the shade, cold and distant, a glance back to the source of my dreaming convinces me that the whole bay is bathed in sunlight, so it's just a trick of my eyes, once full of concentrated light, now drained as they look away and forget the source. A salty deception. As I realise how loud the sound of the soft waves is as they overcome sandbars and come down on the scorched sand, I know that I must keep my eyes fixed on my hope, on my faithful friend. Cold now we head for home, run on the beach for warmth, relaxed, content, fresh, full of hope. Words wash the air as we let the chill of night drop around us, we drift to other places of beauty, feelings of glory, polished by memory into glimpses of shinning perfection.

Last night I lived in the stars, stuck on the distant canopy I slept in the arms of the sea.

Fire warmed cold skin, friends took the bite of the wind for me as I warmed their backs, we sang strange songs, always gazing upwards and outwards away from our small planet, watching the last few specks of a long gone comet's tail finally find their purpose as they streak through our atmosphere faster than the eye can see. Outside it's cold and I don't know how to spread this special warmth, all I can do is hope, pray and be true.

A thousand words of life.

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