Monday, December 26, 2011

In the midst of winter

I found within myself an invincible summer.

Riding back from the train station on my bike, after celebrating Christmas with my family, I passed Path Mark, the nearest grocery store to my house. I turned into the parking lot and pumped up the spiral ramp to the second level parking lot. The sun was low, making the altostratus clouds light up with color along the edges of their wispy sides. On my bike I catch glimpses of the Philly sky line, with the colors and light reflecting off the buildings.
I hadn't been up to the second level before today, I just wanted to look a little longer. And be in peace. And there was peace, there was space, and there was quiet.

No one looks up in the city, there's too much going on down by our feet. We have to keep from running into each other, or getting run over. We have to make sure we're going the right way and not looking clueless. The times I do look up, I almost always see something worth remembering, at least for the next few minutes.

All we have is the small stuff. Born alone, we'll die alone. All these things we obtain, all this form we react to, all of it is futile.
Live in the now, always perfectly entertained by the life around you. Those tiny things are rewards for achieving this. Presence gives presents. It's more generous than Santa.
I understand worshiping God, if I could thank one entity for the existence I inhabit, I would worship endlessly.
But instead of naming the nameless, I will see the nameless in the emptiness. Without space, what would be?

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