This morning, I was riding my motorcycle to work when I realized, again, how perfect everything is: the glint of the sun on the edge of my visor, the bumpiness of the road, and the cracks in the tarmac; every single thing, every single detail. I found my attention wandering, looking for something that was not perfect. I discovered internal parts of myself that I would not usually consider perfect, such as anxiety, fear, and frustration, and perceived those also as perfect. It discovered and enjoyed the parts of myself that fight with reality.
There is a sacredness in reality which can be experienced in every moment and in every place. People argue that God does not exist, yet it is clearly apparent right in front of us, everywhere we look, and in everything we perceive. It is the substrate of everything that exists. Calling this God “reality” would make it no less sacred. Scientists worship it by observing it closely while artists catalogue it by capturing its essence.
The feeling of reality, when it is deeply perceived, when the perceiver is perceived in itself, is profound and sacred. It is deeply compelling; much more so than dry cognitive concepts, which are attempts to divide reality up into categorized pieces, which are attempts to understand the whole by understanding each of its pieces in isolation, which are attempts to model reality inside a limited mind. In…
