Stillness In Motion

I am sit­ting at my desk in my favorite early morn­ing still­ness mode. Despite the quiet and calm, I real­ize that this planet is going around the sun at some­thing like fifty-thousand miles per hour. The earth itself is turn­ing on its axis (at the equa­tor) at a cou­ple of thou­sand miles per hour. The nerves inside my brain func­tion at the speed of light between synapses. Real­ity itself (every atom) flashes on and off numer­ous times per sec­ond, but do so at a pace that makes it all look constant.

I am expe­ri­enc­ing still­ness in the midst of an atomic storm of elec­trons, pro­tons, neu­trons, etc. The com­bi­na­tions of speeds are beyond com­pre­hen­sion — yet I sense still­ness so deep that it is beyond words. I expe­ri­ence quiet in the mid­dle of incom­pre­hen­si­ble sub­stance noises. Given this real­iza­tion (and oth­ers) I can no longer imag­ine com­plain­ing, whin­ing, dread­ing, antic­i­pat­ing, wor­ry­ing, fearing…

There is a grand para­dox to it all. You will find that in the great­est crises of your life that there are moments of still­ness so deep that you won­der if you are not actu­ally con­nected to the Ulti­mate Itself. It has been recorded that a sense of calm is the last stage before any great cat­a­stro­phe. A sense of won­der gets con­trol of the panic. Some­thing greater is happening.

“Be still and know that I am God” was not writ­ten by some­one with­out cares, con­cerns, or chaos. It was writ­ten by some­one that expe­ri­enced all of that fully within and with­out. It is beyond logic or any explana­tory paradigm.

IT JUST IS!