To see the world in a grain of sand,

and to see heaven in a wild flower,

hold infinity in the palm of your hands,

and eternity in an hour.

William Blake

The whole world is dripping, gray, water running through the streets and pooling in the Quick Stop parking lot. 

In this light, the apartment walls are dingy, ashen, crisscrossed with shadows.

And, everywhere, piles, so that it seems as though the stuff in our house is pooling together like the puddles outside. 

The twins put noodles down the vent, noodles from a box they scrounged from the pantry and tore open like the little wild things they are.  Laying on their bellies, peering through the grate that leads to the basement below, they’re pleased and excited to recall where the noodles have gone. 

“Hot-hot,” they exclaim, “Noodles!”

Everything, to them, is an exclamation point.  Everything extraordinary – the sun, the clouds, the rain, the discovery of a shadow moving as they do. 

All the world a miracle, the finite infused with the infinite and to us, they are the miracle, these little beings whose minds see no clear divide between the ordinary and extraordinary.  

All our lives are spent seeking an awakening, a return to that same unity of vision.

This post is linked with Five Minute Friday.  Click over to read more posts on the prompt “Ordinary.”