What if our salvation was not to be found in anything great or terrible, but in the humble witness of each new day?
What if we witnessed the sunrise?
What if we heard the song of the dove?
What if we embraced the preciousness of each moment?
What would our lives look like then?
Would we still feel such insecurity? Would we still cling to material success? Would we still eye one another suspiciously? Would we still fear our life's inevitable end?
There is a moment, I believe, when we all experience the numinous—when the majesty of reality makes its way in. The clouds may not open and we may not see the hand of God, but something divine enters us in these precious moments. The moment may be brief and the sensation may be subtle, but in these moments we may feel connected to something beyond our mundane lives that is here now. It’s easy to overlook these small moments. What if we didn’t?
Our culture bombards us with stimulation at all times. Often, these subtle, peaceful moments get overwhelmed by the noise. It is only when we stop and let ourselves rest and allow the world to quietly flow in that we can feel something that is at once deeper than the physical world and somehow, simultaneously, inseparable from it. In these moments we experience a divinity that is not found in the heavens towards which we reach with our will, but in the living matter of the Earth which we need merely to sink into. What if we really noticed them?
In these moments, there is nothing to do, there is nothing to become—the simple act of being is enough. In fact, being is far more important than any sort of doing. I’m sure you have felt these moments, even if they evade your recollection at this moment. If we inhabited this space of being daily, would we finally feel like we are enough?
Our entire civilization is embroiled in a frantic race of achievement. What we’re achieving, I don’t rightly know, but this activity seems like it will never end. I recall a brief moment when Covid first started where all of civilization came to a halt. There was anxiety and uncertainty around what would happen next. In this collective moment of pause, it almost felt like we could breathe. We turned towards our families and one another. We reconsidered our priorities. Deer could be seen walking down once-busy city streets. Of course, that moment was vanishingly brief before we began our frantic search for “solutions” and the race to return to normal life. Perhaps it triggers our insecurity to be at rest with ourselves. Perhaps this is what all this activity is about.
The whole history of civilization can be perceived as a quest for liberation from the Earth. We meditate in our ashrams, we build our sky-scraping towers, we immerse ourselves in technological realms, we send rockets into space—for what? Are we so afraid of the Earth that we feel the need to escape?
In these numinous moments of peacefulness, when I feel embraced by a landscape and nurtured by the sounds of the birds, I get a brief taste of what humanity is truly afraid of—at least I think. In these moments there is an openness, an intimacy that is truly remarkable. It is tremendously vulnerable. Today I felt a deep sadness as I walked on the land and saw a Century Plant agave dead lying on its side. These Century Plants grow for multiple decades, gathering nourishment their whole lives. After 20, 30, or up to 50 years they have gathered enough nourishment. In a single season, they utilize all the energy they’ve gathered a shoot a gigantic stalk up into the air. These 1-2 foot tall plants erupt a massive colored stalk that towers up to 8 feet into the sky. As the stalk grows, the leaves of the plant shrivel, brown, and decay. All life is given to the stalk. First blossoms, then pods, then a flurry of seeds explode—popping out of these many pods. The scattering of the seeds is the Century Plant’s last act of life. Bidding on the next generation is the final breath of a Century Plant.
As I walked in this state of openness, I saw a dead Century Plant on its side, stalk long decayed from many possible years of weather. I looked around me, hoping to see young Century Plants. I didn’t. I felt a pang of pain and sadness at the thought of this Century Plant living its entire life in vain. Perhaps there were seeds that sprouted beyond my limited sight. Though the thought of the tragedy still found me. I felt a heaviness and a stinging come to my eyes as I contemplated this Century Plant's long preparation, total sacrifice, and ultimate failure to spread its seeds.
In a state of even greater openness, perhaps this would have moved me to tears. Opening to the beauty of the world also opens one to its pain. Intimacy can be dangerous, as anyone burned by the flames of romance can attest.
Perhaps we were burned in the past. Perhaps there is a reason all cultures tell of a great flood. Perhaps we were once this open and were deeply wounded by some great pain. Perhaps we guarded ourselves, seeking liberation from the Earth so we would never have to feel that pain again.
I certainly don’t know, but I do know what I feel and I do know what I see. I know the vulnerability of that openness and I know the calloused frenzy I see in our culture. So much chaotic activity that our civilization threatens to crumble under its own oppressive weight. Though if we surrendered to the world, would it have too? If we felt the world again, could we simply let all this activity go?
I can’t say for others, but I can say for myself—when I feel the world’s intimacy, there is nothing else I feel I need. I may still have my goals. I may still desire status, but the urgency that underlies these desires in the more distracted moments of my life melts away. I am left with peace and a certainty that I am at one with the world.
I wish more people felt that more often. I’m working on being more receptive so I can feel that sense every day.
I long for a day when we live like our ancestors once did: connected to the land and open to one another. Of course, we will always live differently than they did, but I know we can feel that. In those brief but precious moments, it feels like I’ve arrived home. This state of being is our birthright.
To recover it is so simple and yet the most revolutionary thing you can do:
Drop your agenda. Let go of your plans. Offer yourself to the World. Let the World touch you.
More than any political ideology, religious movement, or the like—this is where power lives. This is where things can really change.
May we submit ourselves to the quiet revolution. May we let Nature once again enter our hearts.
Thank you ‘What if ‘ ♥️🌺