I wasn't sure what or how I could write something for the chapel gathering and I was feeling a little land-locked so, as I'd been told if I walked from the back of Ffald-y-Brenin, over the hilltops, I'd be able to see the sea, I set off to think, pray and head-write.
I was so busy chattering away to god - not giving him a chance to reply - that I missed the turning and ended up surrounded by mist. I couldn't even see the end of the path, let alone the sea.
But I thought: that's all right; this is all part of my allegorical experience; when I get there God will make the sun shine through the mist for one moment to illuminate the sea and I will have a clear message.
I found the correct path but, again, the mist was so thick I still couldn't even see the promontory from which I'd been told I could see the sea.
At last, aware that time was passing, I headed back, with just a couple of sentences upon which I hoped to build ... something.
I would reduce God to my size
A god of party tricks and pretty thoughts
My god, god-on-demand
Little visions, little dreams
But God breaks out of the shell in which I would encase him
The deep roars,
Heaven bursts open,
Stars erupt, dazzling and bemusing,
Rainbows adorn the skies
And my eyes are opened
To the hugeness
Of the One
And dreams that now seem so tiny
Are given permission
To grow and take root and flourish.
And as we stand in Eden, God and I,
God is not there for my purpose;
Rather I am here for his.