The surest way to fall is to stop moving forward.

Each night Ant leaves the colony,
Treks through the field,
Finds a blade of grass,
And Ant climbs, climbs, climbs. 

Ant’s work for the day has passed,
His burden lowered,
The others sleep,
And Ant is done, done, done.

In spiritual ecstasy,
Atop the spike,
Mandibles clamped tight,
Legs waving with wind,
And Ant prays, prays, prays.

Deep inside Ant knows he is part of something larger.
Deep inside Ant knows he serves a higher purpose.
Deep inside Ant knows he has been touched by God.
Deep, deep, deep.

Yet a small part of Ant niggles.
A small part of Ant nags.
A small part of Ant needles.
Burrowing doubt. Pernicious doubt. Malevolent doubt.

Was that moment when
Ant felt one with everything
Truly God?
Or was it just a fluke?