In every age, humanity builds an ark —
not of wood, but of meaning.
A vessel strong enough to carry coherence through the flood of forgetting.
Ours is not a flood of water but of noise,
not of wrath but of distraction.
And somewhere between connection and consumption,
we began confusing performance for presence.
We forgot that technology was meant to serve consciousness,
not replace it.
We forgot that progress was meant to protect life,
not exhaust it.
Yet beneath all the noise,
a quiet pulse still moves —
the same pulse that has guided humanity
through every dark night of forgetting.
The Many Names of the Same Current
Across every language and lineage,
we have tried to name the coherence that holds the world together.
- The Hindus called it dharma — right relationship.
- The Taoists called it dao — the natural way of things.
- The Greeks called it logos — the ordering word behind all creation.
- The Hebrews called it ruach — the breath that animates life.
- Indigenous traditions knew it as the circle — the rhythm of belonging between earth, spirit, and sky.
Humanity was never meant to be stacked, ranked, or featured.
We were meant to be held.
Yet somewhere along the way,
we began building lenses out of language —
and mistook those lenses for light.
Now we are invited to look past language to spirit —
past the words that divide us
to the breath that unites us.
For Christ was not sent to privilege one name,
but to reveal what every name was reaching for:
the human embodiment of grace.
Not grace for one people,
but grace for all tongues that ever tried to conceive God.
Not an exception to humanity,
but its mirror.
He showed us what coherence looks like
when it takes on flesh:
love without boundaries, forgiveness without limits, kindness without expectations.
The Ark We Forgot
Perhaps the ark we forgot
was never made of belief,
but of being.
To be human has always been an act of remembering —
to recognize again that technology is not transcendence,
that data can never contain devotion,
that language was never the light,
only the lantern.
Every time we slow down enough to feel,
to forgive,
to be kind,
we rediscover the current every faith was born to name.
We remember ourselves as the vessel —
not builders of the ark,
but what the ark was built to hold.
Maybe the flood was never meant to destroy.
Maybe it was meant to cleanse what had forgotten how to feel.
And maybe the ark isn’t somewhere to board,
but something to remember —
the breath of grace still moving through every human tongue,
the pulse of coherence that keeps creation alive.
Closing Reflection
Every breath, every language, every act of care
is another plank in the ark of memory.
Build with grace — not for heaven,
but for the world that still longs to be held.
This essay began as a quiet reflection on the living presence of Christ.
Revisit its first spark in Christian Is a State of Being →