Days pass when I forget the mystery. Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention,
they crowd its antechamber along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing their colored clothes; cap and bells.
And then once more the quiet mystery is present to me, the throng’s clamor recedes: the mystery that there is anything, anything at all, let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything, rather than void:
and that, O Lord, Creator, Hallowed One, You still, hour by hour sustain it. (Denise Levertov, from her collection, The Stream & the Sapphire)
“Be exalted, O God, above the heavens, and let your glory be over all the earth.” (Psalm 108:5)