I was reading a book, and found myself speculating on the lives of these fictional characters beyond the end of the page, and suddenly they had, however incompletely, new lives behind my eyes. I found myself thinking on the creative powers of authors and the worlds without end that drip from their pens.
This led naturally to my thinking about God as Author, writing the world in which we all move, being engaged and entertained by the twists and turns of these characters and the setting that enfolds them.
Then it struck me, I was making God in my own image, as a lover of literature, and I had a moment of clarity in which I realized... we all make God in our own image anytime we seek to understand Him, it is the only way for us to open a channel narrow enough and understandable enough for His limitlessness to approach us in a way we can accept; so how could it be anything but true that we are each made in God's image, not once at our birth but in a continuing and ongoing manner every time we look for Him in our lives, we reflect that which is like unto Him, and see perhaps some small part of what is not in His nature. The reflection of a mirror which has never been. Where does the dust return to?