I looked and looked. The storms did not come. There were momentary disturbances in the general order, local changes that ultimately led to nothing permanent or, even more so, significant. I saw a self-feeding substance with apparent activity. It was pure potential. It only exhibited a readiness for activity. Its internal movement, seemingly spontaneous, summed up to zero.

I grew bored of watching. Of what I saw, but even more so of the act itself. I realized it was at the heart of the problem. It was barren and dry. It was safe. But insipid. Soft. Without shape or mass. It did not penetrate the substance. It merely skimmed over it. Bent upon contact with its surface. Dispersed. Ugh. It disgusted me.

I needed a different kind of looking. I needed insight. Something harder and sharper. A dangerous tool.

I began to listen. Heed the silence.