I write this during a thunderstorm, and I imagine watching myself from very far above, near the source of the sound. I am a dot in a tapestry of a million comings and goings and doings as seen from this vantage point. I see my dot as somewhat indistinguishable from the others. Yet, if a great storm were to come and toss all these dots about, there would still seem to be a connected consciousness from this vista. Just as the cells in my body work or fight or concede with their own consciousness or action, I can choose to work or fight or concede within this bigger one about me. The universe gets done everything it needs to regardless. 

Perhaps we are all working for the bigger patchwork. Perhaps the only unreal part is the countless ideas and fears and desires of the trillions of little i’s moving about. Perhaps the greater truth is the big “I” deeper within us that is embedded in the patchwork itself. The drop of water and the blade of grass contain all the messages contained in the cosmos. To realize all this on some level, but to also remember to enjoy the view.

The great scientists and spiritualists seem in agreement that in its essence, time and space, or spacetime, is an illusion.

If there is no time, … my beloved old dog is just as real today as is my beloved dog by my side. The warm and gentle love of feeling his presence that envelops over me, even if years have passed. 

If there is no space, … I can connect from my heart to someone in pain a thousand miles away. The text that arrives just after I’ve been thinking of somebody. “How funny. I was just thinking of you!”

In this all comes a peace. Calls to action are calls to agitation. All ethical judgments of good and bad can rest for a moment. All inner thoughts and worries are like the smallest flickering of a candle in a dark little room, while there is a world of brightest starlight that asks nothing of me in terms of agitation or arousing outside that little dark door. 

A gentle being-ness is allowed. The ancient gods and even the power brokers of this world shout and are awarded in praise or condemnation, but the source that runs the whole show and that never looks for ego-boosting or attention gives its blessing as I remember to commune with it.

Nothing is important now of agitation. All is important in remembering my smallest place in the show, yet my greatness in being a feature of its production in this current form. 

There are billions of egos, but my DNA, my fingerprint, are as unique as every frozen drop of rain’s when a snowflake. And, as the storm all about agitates with cries of “Snowflakes!” or “Hate mongers!” I can listen to the rolling power of the thunderstorm out my door on this chilly, autumn morning. 

There is a deep beauty in that storm, as its power carries no agitation of convincing or warring. It is simply the breathtaking power of behold me. Instead of fear, I feel a sublime beauty in inhaling the sweet dew from the rain pouring down my face, as I look up to behold a masterpiece. It’s heard millennia of agitation, it’s witnessed endless wars. But, its rolling thunder remains, a subtle reminder of the illusion of time, while the faces and the wars have been replaced a million times over. 

Instead of sadness, I feel connected. It is all important to fight in a war. It is all important to choose not to fight in a war. But, it is of bigger importance to not define myself by my role in the play, or the uniform or mask I wear. 

Beholding the storm, that’s where the feeling and awareness then goes beyond words. When I stand drenched in the cold rain in awe of the thunder, when all the other noise of human making is quieted, it is a sublime place of connectedness, a oneness, that, if put into words of “God” or “Universe” or “Source” get trapped in other’s definitions or systems of thought. Or, even when I define it as such, it gets caught in a limited idea that is almost insulting to that gentle greatness. It is fittingly beyond all human cogitation. So, I don’t have to judge others or war with them over it. I can simply love. And, perhaps that is why it is so utterly beautiful. 

And, it’s right there. Don’t forget to look for it.

You’re free to just be, if even for a moment.

You’re loved. You are love. At your very core. The thunder might remind.