Sanctus

Inhale the pefumes and spices, faint reminders of the regalities that are lost in your mundane utilitarian life. Do you hear the bells? There are heavy strikes of metal on metal lost in the ringing. It is ancient and violent. And beautiful. There are voices singing in ragged unison, and it is still glorious. On the edges of our suspended reality, the supernatural is waiting waiting, waiting. And then he enters. We could be seen as extraordinarily deluded. But we know. This is the greatest mystery of the universes, which makes all come to fruition and reality. It rationalizes prayers for the people who have broken you into a thousand peices. It understand the hopes that cause weeping for fear they are false. This is the threshhold to revelation. The window to the incarnate. It is holy, this life.