This post may seem Pollyanna to some and downright wrong to others, but I'll shout it out loud for anyone to know right now, impractical as it may be:
I believe in miracles.
I believe in them so much that it's safe to say they're a part of my religion.
Yes, I know everyone goes in and out at their proper time and that
in between birth and death a lot of stuff goes wrong.
My miracles have nothing to do with saving anyone from their demise: that's between a soul and God.
My miracles don't even have that much to do with making the wrong things go right.
My miracles are...well... every single damn breath we take, really.
Breathing through joy, breathing through pain.
If you take a moment to really attempt to fathom the odds for a life to be created
for a planet to foster such lives
for the elements to be lined up in such a way that these sentients would have dreams
and all that life entails...
With the miraculous comes the gratitude for it all.
The breath for it all.
Today's journal entry:
Write out one hundred things you are grateful for.
When you go out into the world today, take a moment and look at an everyday object, like a car.
Take a few minutes to really fathom what it took historically, intellectually and physically for this car to have been conceived in the mind and made.
The centuries of innovation
starting with the wheel...
no, starting with the elements being created -
it's enough to make everything