Yesterday I woke up to Mt. Rainier towering above a field of mist, illuminated from behind by the soft orange-pink of dawn. Trees and bushes poked out from the ether. Spider webs sunk heavy with dew. My heart almost burst. I lingered for a few seconds before heading to the meditation hall. When I emerged again the mist was gone. 

Paul Fleishman likens the mountains to slow waves on the ocean of existence. We are but mere droplets launched for a moment into space, thinking ourselves individuals. All our misery comes from that illusion and our attachment to it. The couple days I spent at the vipassana center cleared my mind and heart after so much upheaval, and allowed me to let go of some of my anxiety over my decisions. Every time I return there I feel another veil is removed from my eyes. I look into the mirror after a round of sitting and my eyes are lighter. I see this also in the eyes of other meditators: they are luminous, the clouds covering them have been swept away by the intensity of their gaze inward and their spirits shine out, uninhibited.

Meditation shows me the relativity of my own perception through experience, but there are other ways to know this intellectually. In 1990 Voyager 1 took a picture of the Earth 3.7 billion miles away from the outer edges of the solar system. We are a tiny dot in the middle of thousands upon thousands of tiny dots.

On a human level my problems are so real and all-consuming. On the level of the solar system they are minuscule. And the Universe? I imagine that the Universe has a kind of indifferent love for me. Like drops of spray hovering above the ocean we are essentially one and the same, but whether or not I sleep on the stoop of a church or in a plush bed at the Hilton I doubt the Universe is concerned. Why, then, must I care so much?

That cosmic sage, Carl Sagan, had something similar to say about the Voyager 1 photo:

“The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity – in all this vastness – there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.”

—Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space, 1997 reprint, pp. xv–xvi

To me, this is both freeing and empowering. It makes my priorities very clear. My values of right and wrong, good and bad, are so very human, and so very relative. What, then, endures? What is Truth? These questions are the whole point.

There are no cell phones or internet at the center. So, when I came back to Portland early on Friday I returned to a locked door at my friend’s house, who thought I was coming back on Saturday. I was a drop of water suspended, but I knew I had other options. I called some other friends, who took me in. We had a lovely night of singing songs and enjoying each other’s impromptu company. And like that I entered the life of the universal vagabond, exploring the fabric of my own existence and the people along the way. Everything feels more intense in this space, more immediate. I am on the edge of myself, at the known limits, pushing out past my comfort zone. The process is itself a meditation, teaching me a new awareness.

On Tuesday I will head to Washington D.C. to see some beloved friends and then on to New York City to play a gig with Edna for Mexican Independence Day. There is much to explore and so many unknowns.