In the Kabbalah, the writings of the Hebrew mystics in their lost caves, God tells the prophets that he has endowed every human being with the creative spark, something he has given to no other living things. The only thing people have to fear, he warns, is failing to heed the call of this spark, ignoring this gift, turning their backs on the light and love he gave them and them alone to want and cherish. It is through this spark that people can talk to me, he said, and I will answer, wrote the mystics thousands of years ago. And I will love you, he said.

 

Talk to me, My Lord,

 Show me the this light this gift,

 Help me to speak with you,

 And I will answer you,

heed your call, consider your warning.

I see your light and love and color everywhere,

even on windowsills in the afternoon sun,

though a humble bottle.

hearing the hum of the sewing machine in the Studio,

in the light that comes through the trees,

and frames the clouds in the open sky.

In the doors and windows of an old and simple barn.

In the bray of a donkey, the bark of a dog,

the beams cutting through the dark forest,

the sunlight sparkling off the poor puddle.

I am so blessed to be talking to you.

Hello, Lord, I love your work.

Can you love mine?