“Do you believe in miracles?” If by ‘miracle’ you mean a moment of unalloyed normalcy, of low-shouldered sublimity, of pure being empty of past and future, then yes, I do. If you mean an event when Nature is briefly persuaded to suspend one of her laws, then no, I don’t.
Miracles tend not to be recognized as miracles. That’s because they don’t add something to our lives; they take something away. Miracles express the irrational love of a supramental intelligence. They create space.
Can we allow for the possibility that when Jesus said, “Peace, be still,” it was not to quell a maritime disturbance but to calm the fears of his disciples? Therein the real miracle.
Do miracles happen? Yes, absolutely. But not when we’re in our comfort zones.
In the middle of life, in our 30s or 40s, the looking-good game starts to fall apart.
Here begins the descent. And the terrors.
Here also is where lives transform, where miracles happen.