I have been meditating a lot recently on the total improbability of life and consciousness. And how as a woman (“of a certain age”) from a comfortable background, living in the land of milk and honey, I exist with so many human endeavours over so many thousands of years creating this reality. I find myself in it, conscious of it, contributing to the fabric of the now and of the future in my minuscule way. It seems bizarre and at the same time tedious and prosaic and then with a flicker of time and a change of perspective it is in the truest sense of the word, awesome.
And this awe is not some innocent naive mouthgaping wonder. This is the awe of the unexplainable and unknowable truth. And with that experiential beingness how can we go about the mundanity of the daily life without paying some kind of homage to the inextricable fact that we are alive and conscious and creating. It is this that drives a faith and it is the faith that drives religion as we seek as individuals to make sense and make excuses as a collective to quash the intensity of the awe of our infinite minuscule life.
Having stepped out of my little life for a three day getaway, I have felt the impact of the general pondering of the utter bizarre fact of my existence in my tiny suburban world being swept aside while I am transported to the scenes of other people’s tiny lives. Due to the variant sensory input I can be in a different state that concurrently dulls the persistent alert to acknowledge the enormity of life and accentuates the intricacies of earthly existence that bring nourishment to body and soul.
This may all seem like some mad woman’s wordy meandering thoughts (and it is all of that) but it is like an epilogue to my last post – so this is where convalescence leads you, methinks. So perhaps after illness being able to hold lightly in one’s being a heightened sense of aliveness is the blessing and the curse.