Salt spray off the Aegean Sea stung the air around the penal colony of Patmos in a.d. 95. The harsh scraping of quarried stone defined the exile's daily reality. Suddenly, the auditory landscape shifted from crashing waves to a sound resembling a brass trumpet tearing the atmosphere apart. A portal wrenched open overhead. Beyond that threshold lay a sprawling expanse resembling a floor of smoothed, transparent crystal, completely devoid of the sea's restless churning.

The occupant of the central seat did not possess a describable human form. Instead, His visage radiated the hard, brilliant hues of cut jasper and blood-red carnelian. The colors refracted across the glassy floor, painting the transparent expanse with veins of deep crimson and blinding white. A halo of emerald green arched over the seating area, casting a forest-like shadow against the relentless brilliance. Constant, rolling vibrations of thunder shook the ground beneath the surrounding seats, while the sharp tang of ozone accompanied flashes of lightning.

Seven torches burned fiercely in the foreground. Their heat countered the coldness of the surrounding crystalline floor. The Creator sat amidst this sensory overload not in chaos, but in perfect, orchestrated rhythm. Four winged beings, unblinking and vigilant, kept a constant, rhythmic chant that anchored the thundering sky.

The chaotic waves of an ocean shore carry a relentless, turbulent rhythm. Yet, the floor stretching before His seat remains completely still, resembling a solid sheet of ice or flawless glass. The twenty-four elders surrounding Him sit upon their own elevated chairs, wearing golden wreaths upon their heads.

They do not cling to these heavy metal bands. They physically remove the gold, thick circlets weighing nearly three pounds each, and cast them onto the smooth, unyielding floor. The metallic clatter of the wreaths hitting the crystal surface echoes above the thunder. The dense, polished metal comes to a complete rest against the cool, quiet glass.

The tossed wreaths remain motionless on the transparent floor. The brilliant reflection of the emerald rainbow catches the edges of the discarded gold. The sharp sound of metal striking crystal eventually gives way to the low, steady rumble of the ongoing song.

A still surface always welcomes the heavy things we finally drop.