Yesterday I was sitting at a restaurant eating nachos - "when in doubt, eat Mexican," that's my motto - when it happened again. I was reading about mysticism, about how some people see a different level of reality breaking through the veil of everyday life. Munching my chips. And then suddenly I wasn't reading but experiencing: God in the face of every person I could see, God in the walls surrounding me, God in the floor and the ceiling and spoon and napkin. God in the chips.
The intensity and brilliance and beauty of everything around me struck my senses like a drum, pounding the rhythm of perfection through my seeing and hearing, past my knowing, into my being. It's overwhelming, this experience, disturbing in some ways. It's kind of like running around on the peak of a really high mountain: the view is breathtaking, but even so you might pass out from lack of oxygen. That's not a complaint, mind you; just a description.
It came to me again today, carried on the muscial waves of a Christmas song (in mid-November!) that I heard in a store. I don't know why, but the song triggered this vision again, so I just stayed put and let it be until, inevitably, it passed. I wonder if someday it will not pass, if I will begin to see with that clarity all the time rather than at random moments. Maybe, maybe not; that's for God and the future to know, not me. My work is just to accept the vision when it comes to me, to let it permeate my being so that it continues to seep through my veins and settle in my bones even when the veil of daily life settles around me again. Even when I'm not seeing God in the chips.
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