! God And Michelangelo Paint A Ceiling

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, above you – ladies, it’s easier with the mirror from your purse… Monsieur, Signor, Mein Herr… we’ve come to The Big Moment…’ the moment for which tourists gather; temples fill; saints and monks fall to their knees; contemplatives fall silent; even angels hold their breath; all Creation for a moment, still; look around, the beauty of it all: the earth so warm and fresh under the morning sun; rivers sparkle among greenest trees full of breeze and birdsong; does this perfection lack? One thing. The one, which may in time unite all this; destroy all this. It cannot be the Lord God Himself, seen walking in the garden in the cool of the evening, in this paradise which is Himself; even God must keep His, God’s, own rules; no, it must be His representative upon His earth, made in His image - but according to Earth’s scope.. The tourists gawp, or are struck humble with some unexpected thought. Stay too long like this, craned neck, and older visitors may faint… God – who for a moment, must resemble Man in order to achieve this earthly moment – stretches out His finger… His reflection, this mindless, aimless, half-awake and muscle-conscious hulk, is moved to imitate the action; reflecting, as do the lady tourists’ hand mirrors faintly dusted, scented, with face powder; (a surreptitious dab; it’s hot in here with all the lights..) But painters, even with God’s aid, cannot paint a spark like that. That over-muscled body will soon trim down when he must chase his breakfast through the jungle.. life’s not going to be all milk and honey, manna and ambrosia from now on.. but how many years and eras in God’s mind must pass before that hulk, who’s known as Adam by his madam, evolves in God’s good time, to ask ‘Who am I, Lord? ’… the question echoing down the passage of the years so seldom asked, so silent answered; the answer when it comes, comes as by reflection, comes like a spark to mind.