There exists in life a challenge which we all pose to ourselves: do we define a space for some eternal presence held ? It exists maybe, but most are not consciously aware of it constantly, traveling within each of us, a peaceful piece of us.
Some call the presence God, one that created all creation for a source of divine inspiration. And some consider it found in the scientific method, the logical connections intrinsic in reflections on those subjects we're perplexed on. The well studied artist may persist in praising timeless works, raising them up as gifts in their discipline.
And I, forgone from long concluding, self-sealed under lock and key, may believe it to be the cathartic flow state, drawing from an explosion of fickle fate. Often within a measured, tethered, and treasured solitude to carry through this life in fortitude. All of these are silent means to achieve the impossible dream: naming that which seems in most times unseen.
Or just another injection of an experimental predilection, to the ancient heavenly connection through timeless reinvention, by means of intervention.