The least movement is of importance to all nature.
The entire ocean is affected by a pebble.
Thus in grace,
the least action affects everything by its consequences;
therefore everything is important.
~Blaise Pascal from Pensées
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the Palm of your Hand,
and Eternity in an Hour.
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day
~William Blake from “Auguries of Innocence”
Some days I feel like I’m trying to swim in an ocean rocked by the most minute ripples. The building waves created by forces beyond my control start small and can become overwhelming. I can do nothing but let them flow over, around and beneath me, riding them up and down, trying not to get submerged for long and not get sea-sick.
It can feel like a barrage: billows roll larger and mightier, at times relentlessly powerful, changing everything in their path.
In addition to riding the waves, perhaps I too can be the rippler-pebble in a way that might move oceans or mountains or most amazing of all, another soul, just once. In some tiny way, I hope I can say or do or share something that makes a positive difference in someone’s life. That person forwards the ripple, spreading the wave a little further, a little broader, a little deeper to touch others.
The effect goes far beyond the original thrown pebble, so it can never to be pulled back once it is let loose.
Having had the traumatic experience of a blog post going viral, I want nothing to do with creating big waves. Instead, I want to be the most insignificant of change agents, barely there, just moving enough of another heart and soul to start something that will grow and spread by itself, wild and wonderful.
I don’t know what it might be or how I might do it. Perhaps it is as simple as skipping rocks, choosing the best flattest pebble, rubbing the smooth sides between my fingers. With a momentary regret at giving it up to the ocean, I’ll haul back and just let it go. It will skip once, twice, three four five even six times and then disappear below. The surface of the water will never be quite the same again.
Nor will I.
Make a one-time or recurring donation to support daily Barnstorming posts
Make a monthly donation
Make a yearly donation
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is deeply appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
