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On a beach where each grain is the crystalline hue of a summer moon, where the ocean's din is a Heaven sent symphony of the miraculous and the mundane touching us all in languidly swirling eddies, the tide advancing and receding in God's own time, I kneel in willing subjugation upon this, the moist, yielding floor of the most perfect of cathedrals -- content that in my solitude I am seen and my worship accepted.
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