God in a Cornfield

Very near my home there is a place where, in every direction as far as the eye can see, there is nothing but row after row of corn. No house, no tree, no fence, there is only one flat acre after the next of corn. When we first moved here from DC, my children thought it was really funny that I would yell, "Corn!" when we came to that spot. But in this place I can glimpse the infinite power of the divine, and yelling, "Corn!" is my way of sharing the joy.

The first time that I flew past the Himalayan mountain range, someone asked, "Which peak is Everest?" to which the flight attendant replied, "The tallest one." It was impossible to determine which was the tallest one up there. It seemed as if our plane was a gnat flying among sperm whales. We were not above the mountains looking down, but flying between them. The enormous size and distance between the peaks made no sense to the ordinary scale of my life.

In every country, there is a place so beautiful and divine that it requires pilgrimages. Places like the Grand Canyon, Victoria Falls and Ayers Rock. It is in places such as these, that sense of the infinite is unmistakable. There is also such a place in Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan. When the traffic light changes there, people pour into the intersection like ants descending on a drop of ice cream. I find it interesting that I feel that same small alone feeling beside an infinite divinity, in that immense crowd, as I do when I float on the ocean and look up at the stars. (Please click on the link, it is amazing.)

It is in these places that I put my ego into perspective and know that I am one with all that exists.