Sometimes our actions seem out of context. It is as if we are dancing to a song not in the musical library. It is not heard by anyone else, just us. It is not foreign to us, but seems puzzling to everyone watching. We know that it is still us, just not the us that people know.
All of life and human life especially, is likened by me to a mosaic. Bits and pieces here and there of importance but I wonder where some of the pieces come from when they are not of this lifetime. They have a fit though in the larger picture. Not that it need flash before my eyes, but more of a feeling as being part of the whole. This Veronica has a Veronica who has a Veronica. Ad infinitum. My boundaries are no more since my inside has no outside. What I try to describe is that we are more than we appear to be. How there is a depth to us always eluding, never definite, never static. That if we had the ability to focus differently and some do, we would see ourselves as a substance far greater than three dimensional. When we put our arms around beloveds, we are embracing the human family from which we all rise.
When I heard the term ‘sense of snow’ being described as a one who looks at a footprint in the snow and tells what animal walked, how large, what way the wind was blowing, how far the animal traveled, where he had come from and many other things, I understood it. I immediately thought there are those also with a sense of time and a sense of destiny and those things driving one to learn sometimes by osmosis but definitely by study with a keen interest in a subject. They make connections. Given a word, they take it and whip it into the present and use the premise to show how we connect. This is an area that adds to depth.
Those who can, read the handwriting on the wall and know who wrote it because they understand the language. They have a ‘sense of’ we say because everything they see connects with the subject. A sense of snow. It is a wonderful term. It describes fully those with the ability to hear the cries in crisis and those who see themselves as part of a mosaic, not even consciously realizing where all the pieces come from but knowing it all is part of the greater picture. We are a mosaic, within a mosaic, within a mosaic, ad infinitum. The sense of it all is vast.
The nonsense question is who am I. The real question is who am I not?
photo by John Holmes