Out of Nothing

Twenty-two degrees with bright sun in a cloudless sky—there is nothing better than this on a cold winter’s day. I am standing with my back to the white garage door. It reflects the sun and warms my backside while the sun warms my front. As I gaze upward into deep blue space, little crystals appear and dance on barely moving air currents. I wonder if they are ‘floaters’, those little things moving about in my older eyes. But the little hints of light are nothing like the darker floaters.

Apparently, it is cold enough that any bit of moisture in the air will instantly freeze and float to the ground where it immediately melts or merges with other crystals, disappearing into a blanket of white. Thoughts are like this. They seem to appear out of nowhere, flash a hint of light, and naturally melt away. Were it not for the habit of reifying, making something appear solid, we would not be so bothered by thoughts. As a writer of thoughts, this thought is a little disconcerting.

I suppose as long as we appear to be here, we need to communicate our thoughts, although sometimes I wonder if words are the best way to do so. Nonetheless, here I am writing yet another Dharma Journal post, wondering if words melt in the digital universe. Do the zeros and ones of binary code decay naturally? Does the computer brain that stores the code care about the words? This makes my brain hurt, so I turn my face into the sun once more and watch crystals appear, dance, and disappear. Much more relaxing.