Five-Minute Miracles

It is hard to think which miracles are made in this world. They happen without us knowing; they cannot be differentiated from the rest of phenomenon. Yet we feel them, don’t we, they hit our hearts with an ache of awe. We know what they are, though we don’t see them.

I am mostly dumb. Made of dumb hands and tongue, weak eyes and ears and nose. I grope against a blunted world and know not what I touch. I see only a fuzzy, blurred landscape. So, I turn to myself for a clearer picture. In me are stronger forms, they are home and so they make themselves sharper. I can see the outside world now, the forms of other people take shape, the dark silhouettes of buildings lighten with detail. I can see them, as I see myself.

Then, they fly. With one breath, I am completely in my body, alone again, but this time not dumb. I can see clearly, more clearly than ever before, and I see I am alone.

Then, I am in my terrycloth bathrobe, under green and yellow blankets, in a white room. I feel simple and clean and the room feels simple and clean. The world here is known to me, inside and out.

Suddenly the mind narrows and contracts, like eyes that focus afar. The indigo thoughts peer out into space. Where I once searched for the world, I now search for the universe. I do not bring back anything I can know, but a tingling in the arms, a quickening of the heart. A miracle.