I feel. Good start. I feel it underneath, subterranean if you will; flowing, churning, briskly moving within. It's the stream, no the river within, and it tells me that I am alive, living, life. Yet it is underneath still, like the rivers in the great Sahara I hear, and I'm like the desert above - shifting sands and all (very Peter-esque). It was a gift I didn't ask for, couldn't have - wasn't looking for it. But it's there, it, no no, Him, He's there living in me, not me living.
Again though, He's subterranean, all this earth between me and Him, oops, Him and me, but I am mean. That's always the problem though isn't it? The world get's in the way. Layer after layer, sedimentary, leftover from the erosion of my soul given to television. Those layers harden over time - not just sand, but sandstone. I feel it now, I didn't before, but I do now. It's Him, He's the reason to live - the reason to die. Sadly Sahara desert sands shift and I'm not with Him, He's with me, but I'm not with Him.
What would happen to the desert sand if the silent water's deep were to well up, well we'll find out won't we?