This little meditation is a work in progress, and is likely to be modified again. Such is life, dear friend.
What is It? It has always fascinated me, or has fascinated me for as long as I have been conscious. I never knew its name, and still do not. Divine names speak to certain aspects of It, but It is more than the gods or God; It includes trees, sky, wind, fire, water, many kinds of animal-beings. It lives, moves, and is always here—or there. It is All, and, if it were possible to say so, It is still more than all. As far as I know, It is unbounded in time and space, without an experienced Beginning or End. No one I know of has ever experienced Its Beginning or End. Every being simply and directly experiences that it is, for it is ever-present and all-encompassing.
To be conscious and being fascinated by It are nearly synonymous. I have no recollection of being conscious without some awareness of It. Can one be conscious and not be conscious of It? How would that be possible? How could one see a rock and not be aware that there is more to what exists than that rock, and that the rock manifests It in the rock’s unique way of being in time and space? One see and names a part, and in doing so, has an abiding awareness that whatever is named does not exhaust It, but participates in It and presents It here and now. For It is ever present, all-encompassing, yet also felt or known to be beyond anything and all that one can experience in any way. It is more than the sum of all the parts. It seems to be alive, at least speaking analogously to what we experience in living beings, and It may give life to each and to all—I do not know. All life is in It.
Sometimes I name it “You,” and do so when I focus on the divine mind or wisdom at work in It, perhaps ordering or structuring It. To every thing It bestows a nature or a particular way of being, and an inexhaustible, unsurpassable uniqueness. Perhaps what we call “God” is the Mind of It, or It under certain aspects, such as the eternal—that question will need to be explored. In speaking about It or even to It (when in a playful or poetic mood), I am ever aware that It far transcends my understanding, or any name, or any conception. It is, and everything is within It. To think of there being multiple Its, and that It is just one of them, is a childish game. It is all-encompassing. There is no experienced basis for multiple Its, for It is present in everything that one experiences, even in one’s fanciful imaginings. Nothing can escape from It.
Again, to be conscious is virtually synonymous with being conscious of It, the ever-present background to every act of knowing. One can know or feel nothing in which It is not present. When I first awake in the morning, and open my eyes, I may realize that I am beholding It in everything I see, and that It is simultaneously present in my gazing. It is present in the knower, the known, and in knowing. It is present in everything, presenting Itself in everything, including one’s feelings, sensings, knowings. There is nothing that exists or is in any way that is not sufficed with It. Not as far as I know, based on direct experience. I find no reason to think that even God as I AM is excluded from It. Perhaps I AM is It under the aspect of the eternal, the uncaused, the everlasting. That will be explored. Does It change? I do not know, but experienced parts of It are changing constantly. Perhaps to be in It is to change. This too must be explored.
Some seeings more fully stir the awareness of It. When I behold the starry sky on a winter night, so light and wondrous, I am intensely aware of seeing within It, of gazing with wonder and joy at Its cosmic presence. Seeing the stars reminds me afresh of Its sheer vastness in time and space, and this is achieved by becoming conscious not only of beauty and magnitude, but simultaneously, of my own ignorance of It, and before It. And I, too, am a part of It, just as the stars and ice-cold air, and Moses, walking along beside me in the dark illuminated by stars. The entire cosmos presents It to one who looks. It is presenting Itself through the whole mysterious Cosmos and through every part of It. From moment to moment, It is manifesting Itself, revealing Itself. Trying to grasp Its nature, or comprehend It, is like trying to pick a piece of eggshell out of egg. As you touch It, It withdraws. Ever mysterious, It transcends and informs all understanding.
While gazing in wonder of It, then praying in words to God or to a god, or to a saint or remembered loved one, is a kind of downward movement, a kind of unnecessary addition or even distraction, although words may spontaneously erupt from the mouth. In anything named or imagined, there remains in the mind an awareness that the words and names do not exhaust It, or even do It justice. And yet sometimes, words seem to just jump out, as in a spontaneous cry of the heart. That cannot be helped. One word I find myself spontaneously uttering is “Wow!” But on such occasions, consciously to compose words and to speak them seems less appreciative, less receptive, less alive than simply looking, gazing, delighting in the wonder of Its cosmic display. There is a time for words, and a time for silence. It presents Itself most intensely in silent wonder. To gaze at It lovingly is a silent prayer, the heart of being alive.
In words I read in youth, “I do not know Its name.” Indeed, and the “Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao.” And the It that is named is less than It. And yet, if It were not here, now, I would not be writing, nor thinking about It, and my heart would not be beating, breath not moving in and out.
