Land surrounds me; there is nothing but the dirt under my feet, the sky over my head, and my bare body, hands, and feet.
Alone.
What would that be like?
Back in the beginning, whenever that was, when sparks flew and flickers of light spoke in the darkness, far behind my present life yet still living within me, it was then-, now-, and somewhere to come. In that spark that created the universe, we shared a common origin, a cellular bond that transcends the meaning of time and space. How long ago, fifteen billion years ago?
I am in awe of the sheer magnitude and the profound significance of having it all, and nothing.
This seriousness, this sensitivity, this unexplainable wonder stands in the shadows and sunlight.
I am not standing alone on barren land with nothing to hold on to, nor do I have empty hands, yet many have this reality. The sheer miracle of existence, the intricate web of life, is a source of perpetual despair and amazement, the ebb and flow of what we have become and follow.
The stories told
the stories that hold,
the stories telling us who we are and why.
And yet, within this limitless cosmic energy, we seeking meaning in the vastness, in the stories we weave, and the mysteries we unravel.
I will call it love and lean into it.
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