Existential Seaweed

 "My mind is in a box of space and time and it is so made that I cannot conceive of what is beyond space or time, the limitless and the eternal.  But I know that there must be something beyond space and time, and that something must be the limitless and eternal Power behind the universe."

For a transparently Christian-inspired morning meditation book some of the daily musings take on a surprisingly existential tone.  These flights of whimsy may be its saving grace for me, now that I think about it.  I'm really digging on this idea that a characteristic of my humanity, my humanness, is that my mind is limited in its ability to think about some matters.  It's impossible to comprehend infinity.  It's virtually impossible to understand how far across the universe is and the speed at which it continues to expand.  I'm going to resist the concept of a Higher Power?

Here's this then:

One million seconds is about 13 days.

One billion seconds is about 32 years.

One trillion seconds about 32,000 years.

One trillion dollars laid out end to end would nearly reach the sun.

It would take a jet flying at the speed of sound 14 years to unspool a roll of one trillion dollar bills.

Yet, we throw these numbers around in our daily life and don't think a thing of it.  But when it comes to the help we can receive from a more powerful force we get all agitated, dig our heels in, and refuse to budge.  I can't really understand what a trillion means and I'm going to insist that I comprehend God?  On its surface this is patently ridiculous.  And if you dig down deeper it's even more ridiculous.

When I hear people share their experiences with their own personal Jesus (Johnny Cash - lookitup) I tend to roll my eyes before I catch myself.  Who knows what's going on?  Who knows how you or me or you relate to something ineffable?  I perceived that my dead mother was communicating with me through some doves.  Willie saw his father's spirit lift out of his body when he passed.  People hear actual voices from beyond the grave.  

The scientist in me scoffs, demanding proof - the recovering alcoholic in me nods in wonder.