It was louder than loud, noisier than noise. It probably doesn’t help to use paradoxes to explain, but that’s what it was: a paradox. It was one of those things that cannot be explained, that begets even more questions the more one tries to describe.

You would think that there’s a threshold to what can be heard. A certain volume and: POP! The eardrum would burst and nothing more would be heard. But perhaps it could be possible for the sound to be so sudden, so brief, that the infinitely dense decibels could be received without damage. And that’s what it was: sudden, almost imperceptibly brief.

There was no knowing whence it came; the sound was either so brief as to be time alone with no space, or so loud as to be all space. It was like a call. But, looking around–no one else seemed to notice. And it was so brief that one could not tell what was heard: what, if anything, was said.

In one moment it was so loud as to make one more certain than anything else that it was there; one was experiencing it; one’s entire being was the experience of it. The next and it was entirely gone, without the grace of evidence, no speaker could be seen, no remnants of a crash.

That’s what divinity is, isn’t it? Something more certain than certainty, a totally novel, totally controlling, experience. But, like divinity, nothing could be defined, nothing could be found.

If it was a divine message, then what was it saying? What was one thinking just before it arrived? A criminal thought, earning a warning, some admonishment? A great, forgotten epiphany: the understanding of infinity? What was it? Can you help me?