As I sit here this morning, I concern myself with every other morning I will live. I am all over the place but not here. I live this life by ordering up the kind of experience I found in old-fashioned Automats—I have to consider everything I see and claim it.
Nevertheless … nothing is more real than the nothing. I have secret tools of navigation that absorb the shadows cast by my doubting for there are stars that light my night sky making me sure-footed and able. To look to the nothing is to make the universal reality come alive within me.
Nothing is my very nature, it is me. I am the sunlight to my senses. I am the moon that moves the tides of my well-being to affirm the hopes that form my limbs for walking forward. There are deep forests in the midst of the hot boisterous world of my daily life where I find cool streams and tender flowers growing that speak of new beginnings, fresh starts that bring safe arrivals. I cannot make a mistake and be forever held in its harm.
As I sincerely write and acknowledge a nothing that is Something, the morning brings a substantial rain to fall on my forgotten inner plains and my hidden potential has burst into bloom and flourished. I am awake now.
For me did this happen. I need no one else. Just myself. But I must surely visit with myself to find it.