Just before you, where you imagine an ordinary day with ordinary duties done in the ordinary way, there is a nebulous cloud of probability. This cloud becomes distinct only in the present moment; here and now is where the primordial soup of infinity is narrowed and consolidated into a specific manifestation. But, so many days we rise and boldly stride into these mists without so much as glimpsing the wrenching alignment of fog into form.
On the days when we sense the unravelling of narratives – the end of relationships, the transition of occupations, the imminent change of locale – we can see the fog more clearly. But, truly, it’s always there, out of sight, purposely unseen. It is the undetermined. If you accept the love from which it and you upwell, it is grace. If you insist on independence, it is a fearful darkness.
It would be good for all of us to practice sitting with the empty space. Rather than visualizing or desiring a specific set of circumstances, rather than seeking to impose our wills upon this arriving new creation, we can simply sit companionably with it. With aching back or lovely lightness, we can refuse to allow our egos to try to reshape this empty space before us into our own images. With heavy hearts and aching heads, or perhaps instead that sly little smile of self-absurdity, we can allow ourselves to be reshaped by the gossamer hands of uncertainty.
Whether we do it with great difficulty or with an ease of being, there is a great liberation in just sitting with the empty space. We could call it a liberation of a higher self from a lower self, or of spirit from ego, or of consciousness from expectation. We could call it a liberation from blindness that allows us to perceive the workings of the higher order. We could call it a liberation from the stress of ideals and constant striving. No matter how we say it, no labels can define the edge of this formlessness perfectly.
Ah, such seas the Children of God have been made sailors of.