I see of the world—heavenish periscope of technology—the less I can imagine God intervening. Isn’t it right to think that given the whole thing at once, we’d make out some pattern we’ve been so far too small to see? Flying out of Spokane, the hills I grew up in become doubtless ripples, left behind by some giant iceberg. That’s what I mean. To see the hand of the giant. I’m sure there is someone close by to tell me this is ill-guided. This hope, this wrong way to go about it. That no matter what you think you see you never grasp the scope of what we’re doing to each other— or undoing, or praying in our colorless prayers. That is the muffling of being small and human and prone to peace of mind. I don’t understand why I give myself lectures like this, the someone I’ve imagined nearby for this sole purpose does not look like any God I know or one that shaped an earth. ...thanks for your comment and to the autor of the ship ...