I was sitting on my couch and reading with the clear light of late morning in late November coming through my window.
The page was glowing.
And as I sat there, I noticed the light on the page gently shifting in subtle waves and ripples.
Almost too faint to notice until you know what to look for.
At first I thought it must be the heat slowly rising from the vent between me and the window.
And perhaps it was.
But then I noticed the subtle shimmers and waves slipping in different directions–now left, now right, now down, now up
as if trying to decide where to go
or perhaps as if enacting a ritual or dance
or perhaps as if softly flowing with the ease that comes from an infinite depth of interconnection and oneness
(I would say “... the confidence that comes from…” but confidence seems entirely unnecessary for the air)
Was it the air in the house? Was it the air outside the window? Was it the air in the sky between the sun and my book?
I’m not sure…
But it did occur to me how the sun, the air, my book, and me were all connected in that moment.