I’m grateful for mystery, in all its forms.

Sometimes, looking at the sky, I’m reminded of a story that Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield tells in talks:

When I was younger, I would lie on the grass on a clear night and gaze at the stars. I would imagine that I was at the very bottom of the world, held against the earth by the huge magnet of gravity. I would look down into the vast sea of stars and galaxies. What a mystery.


I love the swoopy feeling of remembering that we are not standing up on some table-like earth, but being nestled into it – that we’re not looking up at treetops but looking out. And that the branches, and the spaces between the branches, point us to the infinite – not just above us, but below us, between us, around us.