Holy House

I awake alone
The bed in my monastic cell is too big.
Big enough for two
But too small to contain my spirit.

A divine presence fills me with sunlight
Filtered through a picture window
Overlooking lands I never notice
On lives too accustomed.

Familiar faces with names unknown
Conducting their morning rites
Something uses the sun to speak
Trying to reach me and speak.

It speaks words out of phase
Truths in wave forms
High energy secrets
Quantums I am not built to receive

Do the people below receive the message?
Upturning their parabolic faces
as scan they scan the sky.

Is it paradolia or