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How does your divinity feel? “What do you mean?” I said. “Here,” he said, “let me tell you how mine feels. Like a column of water that pours ceaselessly over itself, and is clear down to its rocks. Now, you.” I tried answers: like breezesHow does your divinity feel? “What do you mean?” I said. “Here,” he said, “let me tell you how mine feels. Like a column of water that pours ceaselessly over itself, and is clear down to its rocks. Now, you.” I tried answers: like breezes on a crag. Like a gull, screaming from its nest. He shook his head. “No. You are only saying those things because of what I said. What does it really feel like? Close your eyes and think.” I closed my eyes. If I had been a mortal, I would have heard the beating of my heart. But gods have sluggish veins, and the truth is, what I heard was nothing. Yet I hated to disappoint him. I pressed my hand to my chest, and after a little it did seem that I felt something. “A shell,” I said. “Aha!” He shook his finger in the air. “A shell like a clam or like a conch?” “A conch.” “And what is in that shell? A snail?” “Nothing,” I said. “Air.” “Those are not the same,” he said. “Nothing is empty void, while air is what fills all else. It is breath and life and spirit, the words we speak.”...more