Size, flame, movement. Burning iridescence, billowing size…momentous size, spearing the dark emptiness.

This, from the beginning. Burning gas, searing pressures of dazzling light…all racing in immensitude through dark, cold nothing. On, on, on…throwing out light. Launching it, out, out, sending the light — vast, long spears of brilliance.

And movement. Always movement, always change, always the dance. From the beginning, the dance…feet of giants (though not real feet) through endless silence (though not endless).

And behind it all, the Hand — the only Hand I had ever known: guiding, pushing, drawing, pointing. The finger: tracing the pattern through the void, the pattern, the pattern of swirl and race and spin through which I turn — barreling like light through the unsearchable emptiness.

If one were to tell me the purpose – the why of my what – the reason for the dance…he would say:

A grain of sand, countless journeys away, filled with beings I could not comprehend…winking with the speed of its turning…and these beings:

Tiny beyond scale, briefer than a moment, fragile creatures of no substance – made of nothing that could withstand my presence – crawling around the grain of sand, and blinking into nothingness before they could be seen. But they needed a…mark…measure…ruler.

As the dance was mapped out from time immeasurable, and I knew my place in it by the unseen Hand — so their place in time was marked off, according to Months, Days, Years (words without meaning in the measureless dark that fled before my feet). As the speed of my movement, and the rhythm of my passing the others in the dance, were all marked out by the pattern, so these unintelligible beings on the grain of sand required a pattern for marking the time. And all my size, all my brilliance, all my speed – was for this.

To know this…to comprehend the needs of beings beyond my scope of existence, and perceive my assignment from an angle totally unknown in the directionless space of my movement…and suddenly —

I see! I hear! I explode my adoration of the Hand that guides me, the Hand that made me. Who else could have crafted such a plan? Who else could form such a purpose, weave such a dance for such an audience? I – the momentous being of fire and frenzy – I am overwhelmed.

What honor to serve such a purpose, at the bidding of One so great. I am glorious in the glory of the path I tread. My mouthless existence almost forms a word…”Praise.”