Take a breath. Let your eyes rest on your hand.
Not as an object. Not as a tool.
Just… presence.
At first, it seems so plain. So mine.
Familiar lines, the trace of use.
But stay with it.
Really look.
What once seemed solid begins to shimmer.
Not literally—but inwardly.
Like something beneath the surface is breathing.
This hand holds more than touch.
It carries memory.
The echo of gestures I’ve forgotten.
The imprint of things I’ve made, held, released.
And not only memory in thought—
but memory in motion.
The way a musician’s fingers find the scale before the mind recalls the notes.
The way a carpenter’s grip knows the grain of the wood.
The way a surgeon steadies without needing to think.
The hand remembers what the mind forgets.
It moves in patterns shaped by time, shaped by love, shaped by work.
And in that silent remembering, it reveals something more:
That the body itself has been drawn into mystery.
That even this—this simple hand—is a witness to the sacred.
Sometimes, when I quiet everything else—
I sense that what I’m seeing is not entirely mine.
It is not just body. Not just movement.
It is… mystery.
A presence behind presence.
As though the hand were pointing—not outward, but inward.
Not away from reality, but into it.
And then comes the strange, steady knowing:
This mystery—what I feel but cannot name—
is not nothing.
It is Someone.
Not a metaphor. Not a mood.
A Presence that precedes me. Holds me. Knows me.
God.
Not as a distant figure in the sky,
but as the very depth of what is.
I do not merely believe He exists.
I sense that all existence is folded within Him.
That I am not just held by God.
I exist in God.
“In Him we live and move and have our being.”
— Acts 17:28
And if God is Being itself,
then the mystery in this hand—this moment, this breath—is not other than Him.
It is His Being… here.
And if God is here—
truly, deeply, now—
then the Kingdom has already come.
Not a realm above, or a time ahead.
But a reality unveiled.
“The Kingdom of God is in your midst.”
— Luke 17:21
Not a place to arrive at,
but a presence to awaken to.
The reign of God is not imposed—it is revealed.
It is not far.
It is not waiting.
It is Him.
The Kingdom of God…
is God, breaking through what already is.
It is the world, lit from within.
It is the nearness I always longed for—
not approaching, but already here.
And I have seen it.