Beyond The Time

The cosmos is a silent cathedral. For centuries, we have cast our voices into the vaulted dark, listening for an echo, a whisper of another choir. We have heard only our own prayers reflected back. Does our solitude mean we are unique? Or does it mean we are being measured in the stillness before the verdict?

Scripture speaks of a final testing, a rupture in the firmament. A judgment from angels. But what if the angels are not divine? What if the test is not sacred, but surgical? If this tribulation was preordained, then who is the Architect? And for what purpose is the stage of our world so meticulously set?

We must remember this: if there is a show, there must be a light nearby to cast the shadows.

So let them lower the curtain. Let the appointed hour arrive. I will walk through whatever fire or fathom they have designed. I will leap every chasm, withstand every breaking wave.

Not because I am brave.
Not because I have faith.

But because his hand is in mine, solid and sure. And his voice, steady as a heartbeat, is the only scripture I will follow into the dark:

"Eyes forward. Step with me."