Without the oxygenating breath of
the forests, without the clutch of gravity and the tumbled magic
of river rapids, we have no distance from our technologies, no way
of assessing their limitations, no way to keep ourselves from turning
into them. We need to know the textures, the rhythms and tastes
of the bodily world, and to distinguish readily between such tastes and
those of our own invention. Direct sensuous reality, in all its morethan-human mystery, remains the sole solid touchstone for an experiential world now inundated with electronically-generated vistas
and engineered pleasures; only in regular contact with the tangible
ground and sky can we learn how to orient and to navigate in the
multiple dimensions that now claim us.

But there is one thing I adore, and it’s seeing the people I love at work, in their excellence. I can imagine him, cameras rolling, in full possession of his skill, totally focused, unaware of me. It rings millions of chimes of joys. Exactly like myself when I write, oblivious to the world around me, hours passing within a minute, and that feeling of being exactly right where I belong.

It is called flow. When we plug into it, we plug into a limitless source of confidence. We almost touch the divine. We disappear into love and presence.

And when we carry that with us, we can change the vibration everywhere we go.

That’s the gift of confidence. It’s a practice, until one day it’s a gift. The gift of being right here, fully present to our lives, present to ourselves and to others. Exactly like a child, but with the scars, the poise, and the uniqueness of a beautifully grown human.