The Night the Whole Bay Burned Blue

On certain nights in Mosquito Bay, Puerto Rico, the water catches fire — not with flame, but with light. Millions of dinoflagellates, single-celled organisms no larger than a grain of sand, erupt in bioluminescent blue whenever the water stirs. Drag your hand through the surface, and your fingers trail ribbons of cold fire. A kayak leaves a glowing wake. Every ripple becomes a constellation.

What makes Mosquito Bay extraordinary isn't any single organism. No creature is too small to shine. The oldest, the youngest, the ones drifting near the surface and the ones sinking toward the muddy floor — when conditions align, they all ignite. The whole bay becomes a cathedral of light, not because of one great beacon, but because every tiny, overlooked life carries the capacity to glow.

This is the promise Joel saw when the Almighty declared, "I will pour out my Spirit on all people." Not reserved for prophets alone. Not limited to priests or kings. Sons and daughters will prophesy. Old men will dream dreams. Young men will see visions. Even servants — the overlooked, the marginalized, the ones nobody expected to carry God's fire — will burn with the same holy light.

The Spirit of the Most High was never meant for the few. It was always meant to make the whole bay glow.