Gods back yard by Terry Cummings

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I pick up a speck of glimmering sand from a drift I see laid spent from a sandstorm we had a few months ago.
I draw it toward my eye.
As it approaches I begin to heat, it feels ready to explode and as it rushes toward me I feel it trembling deliciously with the strain.
Inside, billions of pockets of space and brilliance are expanding and collapsing, turmoil and thrusting, jostled tension and almost there.
I drop it into the mysterious inky pool just as it becomes ready and watch it sink slowly into the strange blackness and then I wait.
In that moment I become appeased with time and hurry into a unity with the grain of sand.
I still feel its form from when my mind had touched it last, but that form is subtly different now.
The blackness had offered its cold caress to the grain and this was enough to create large cracks and fissures on the surface.
The trembling was now an avalanche of explosions and in that last perfect moment I stop it all.

The yard is quiet and the elders will not be back for some time, the nearest motion is far away and I sense no-one looking upon me from distant times before or aft.
I am alone.

For a mesmerising moment, the black pool flashes white. I hold the scene and let it spill through my mind several times before looking again into the pool. Streaks of matter fly in all directions from where the sand loses its form and slowly the black ink absorbs the pace and almost like fluid, calms the progress to a near stop.
As far as I can see.

Now the centre of the black void twinkles with a sphere of luminous grains so bright that I have to move closer and let my minds sight reduce into miniscule proportions just to see into the gaps between each fiery ball.
And I can see its depth for the first time.
Here in the smallest place, there is intricacy that I would never have dreamed possible.
It is beautiful and perfect to me and never before have I felt such wonder at any such similar examination.
I am in love with this twinkling abyss.