Bright threads woven

Silks bright - rising and falling, weaving and tying;
Voices in the market place - shouting, whispering, singing, weeping;
Ingredients in the mixing bowl, flavour, texture, leaven, nutrition;
Colours on the canvas, light, tone, form, life;

Just one?

One thread of silk, one single sound, one taste, one shade?

What genius of creation is that? What everlasting word? What eternal artist? What giver of life giving bread?
Bland, dull, silent and left on the shelf - is this fullness of life?

But here I stand, amongst silks of unimaginable complexity, voices of many lilts and tongues, sweet aroma and pungent smells, more colours and shape than my eyes can comprehend;
And voices of prayer, from minaret, bell tower and Western Wall calling.
Chanting, exalting, sighing, imploring;

Is only one heard?

Is that great weaver of the intricate fabric of life, that eternal word, great sustainer, ultimate artist confined to one place?

Mosque, church, synagogue?
Shut in or shut out?
Present or absent?

Hearing, guiding, holding, challenging.
Flowing, enfolding, waiting, fulfilling.

Until all threads, every voice, all flavour, every colour and shade and light;
Is brought into one - the only, the incarnate, for ever and all eternity.