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The One who knows me best is the One who is silent.

Ah, the silence of God!
It has troubled the philosopher
as much as it has the neighborhood roofer
who fell off the roof and was never the same.

I spat on the ground
and rubbed the spittle into the dirt with my toes,
bright sunlight illuminating.

Jesus used such a mud paste to cure a blind man,
directly intervening in the life of a soul,
affecting the decisions of countless believers thereafter,
far less silent than his Father,
about as intrusive as that Spirit-Thing.

But I didn't use my mud paste for anything.
I didn't know how to effect a miracle with mud.
I was content to simply gaze upon the earth
as the summer sun caressed my being.

And I shouted, "My, how good this sensory impression feels!"

And God was listening.
And God agreed
as he quietly kept watching
the lathe of creation turn itself.