This quote from George MacDonald's Diary of an Old Soul really stunned me this morning:
Yet hints come to me from the realm unknown;
Airs drift across the twilight borderland,
Odored with life; and as from some far strand
Sea-murmured, whispers to my heart are blown
That fill me with a joy I cannot speak,
Yea, from whose shadow words drop faint and weak;
Thee, God, I shadow in that region grand.
Once again, hints of that "something greater, something more" that when our hearts are still we all become aware of again. It is at once all around us and nowhere, like the heat on our skin from a sun we cannot see with natural eyes. But that does not make it any less real or trustworthy. The problem is not with the sun, but with our eyes.