Every once in a blue moon, I know my place in the world; as if my GPS was roaming and it found me: my precise parallels, coordinates, latitude and longitude, set to now; and I feel that there is nothing beyond myself.
I feel like a tree or mountain would feel if it could feel; present in time, place and purpose. I ask if a tree or mountain would feel less, if it would want more, if it would desire, as we do, to be elsewhere, in order to do what it can perfectly do right here.
For all the analogies we have for flying, it is on the stillness of these moments that I find myself utterly grounded, paradoxically one with the vastness of our universe.
Flying is aimlessly seeking for oneself outside of itself.
A monk sitting still in meditation and thankfulness needs no wings to fly further than a bird of any kind; nothing material can connect the vastness of the soul and oneself.
The invisible is not only essential as the Little Prince taught us, but also the only portal to ourselves, for we can't be found elsewhere of ourselves.
Every once in a blue moon we don't reflect light; light is the source inside and it shines until we once again forget to be blind to our place and time. Without our inner light, all we have left is our social climb.
