Existence is, while life appears to be, existence, therefore, is not life. (Meher Baba)

I went to pick up my granddaughter at the airport. She was coming from New York to spend a weekend by the beach at the coastal city where I live. I was waiting for her in front of an escalator, where hundreds of arriving passengers came out from the gates.

So many airports I have visited in my life, as a result of my international work, I thought. So many people passing by that you never know who they are. I had always been impressed by this parade of people flowing through the airports, each one carrying their personality, struggles, secrets, hopes. But in the past, I was also going somewhere with plans and anticipations, strategizing in my mind, loaded with points of view, worried about my agenda.

But not now, in my octogenarian age, as I waited for my granddaughter. Now I have no agenda. So I explored deeply each face as they passed, the intense, the worried, the flirtatious, some with light in their eyes, others with frowns, the smiling, the adventurous. And again, I was amazed at the many people I don't know and never will meet.

As I looked at them, my cell phone notified me of incoming news. Stories about Trump were shown on the little illuminated screen. What a fright it is to see history in the present, without knowing how it will all end.

I thought of Caligula and the Roman Empire, of everything that history says happened before. Trump, of course, will also pass. This is what evolution seems to be like, I said to myself. Humanity will overcome the prejudices and selfishness of the moment, that are being stirred up by Trump and others, and the emerging civilization will be more planetary, compassionate, and selfless. I envisioned as I watched the endless procession of faces pass before my eyes and memory.

In the midst of these thoughts, I suddenly reflected on something that happens to us sometimes, that takes us beyond mind and thought. I still can't figure out what it is. But it can arise with the affectionate look of a dog, the song of the birds that captivates us on a morning walk, or the embrace of a stranger that touches our hearts. But there is definitely something which happens sometimes, where dimensions wobble, news are of no importance, and time seems to cease to exist. When the madness and postures of politicians and their followers vanish, as well as our own games of power and greed, our consumeristic vices, our passions, and the feelings of self-importance.

Where the promises of technology, artificial intelligence, immersive headsets, whatever, become useless toys, which cannot comprehend or emulate the majesty of life, the consciousness of consciousness. And much less to visualize that, which we call Love, that floods our being and takes us to places that are not places, where even without understanding anything, we know everything.

Yes, those moments of spark, of unexpected spontaneity, which are unpredictable and not programmable. Those instants of descending grace that transform and sustain everything. Where do they come from?

You can't capture them with thought, because they are inexplicable, and you can't get them through effort. They are beyond the five senses, words, understandings, sacred books, legends, methods, rituals, and instructions. They happen, it seems, by chance, and they lead us to momentarily find ourselves.

It is a sense of being that seems to be always latent, but there is nothing one can do to incite it to manifest. Perhaps it is manifesting all the time, but since we are always looking at ourselves in the mirror, or playing with our minds, we do not perceive it.

But sometimes, that experience beyond mind remains for a while as a kind of remote sensation, like a hidden verse that somehow seeps in, and is felt in the everyday aridity where we move.

Words cannot describe those moments beyond moments when we perceive that something that seems to be inside us all the time. Then we feel floating in the middle of life, like sleepwalkers, and the usual concrete things that we face in our environment and within ourselves; the others, the inner impulses, the routines of our life, become like a movie, where one seems to be playing a role in one's own play.

Under this trance, the mind beholds unseen perspectives, depths never imagined, and one feels oneself woven into a single tapestry, where everything seems to be orchestrated, in a perfect harmony of beauty and coincidence. And each daily moment becomes transcendental, and everything is glimpsed as an intertwined theater play. There is a subtle sense of serenity and joy, of confidence, even when one does not understand anything. But then it seems that understanding has no meaning.

One becomes part of the surrounding forest, birds sing inside, as we simultaneously become witnesses, spectators, and actors. Our identity, as in dreams, encompasses everything, even without knowing who we are, and we feel a strange integration, a simultaneous perception of being part of everything that surrounds us.

Those blackout moments, where the fragmented mental process disappears, can happen anywhere, whether in the middle of a remote forest, watching a beautiful sunrise, or transiting through a busy airport. Then, as one recovers "normality", it is like waking up into a dream, still dreaming, astonished, as if coming out of another dimension. Trying to explain to ourselves what happened, trying to return to that consciousness that included everything, in a way that cannot be explained, but simply felt.

We are always at the mercy of fragmentation and individualization; of impulses we must complete, experiencing cycles of sensations, reaffirming our identity and the mental schemes that define us, our desires, opinions, prejudices, and points of view. And this is inescapable. Except when we have those spontaneous flashes of simultaneous perception, and we merge into the oneness of being.

It seems that those aha moments of waking give us a glimpse of the paradoxical journey of the evolution of consciousness. But the mind, through processes of rationality and intellectuality, is incapable of defining, interpreting, or theorizing these experiences. Therefore, these words that I write here are nothing more than part of the amazement at the feeling of those instants where we sense a reality that is imperceptible with our rational mental intelligence.

That silence of thought and words, that inner perception, which arises out of nowhere and is not measurable in time, which transcends the mind, reveals in an inexplicable way, a Being that is indescribable.

Sorry, my mind went away for a moment, waiting for my granddaughter. But now I am back to “real life”, to despair and hope, to stagnation, to euphoria, to frustration, to implacable vices, and attempts at virtue. To this prison of individuality, which seems inescapable, to this fragmented mind with its so many memories. Where everything continues to happen, within one's personality playing its central role, and perceiving the audience of the "others".

And how can one differentiate substance from mirage? When one is so thirsty and exposed to a constant bombardment of information, one concentrates on affirming one's fragmentation. When we believe that we are our minds, our egos. And we are always on the defensive, to protect ourselves from the intrusions of others who challenge our self-definition.

Just think of what we call life. We are born, we grow, and we die. We inherit views as truths, through customs and traditions, that represent the fears and perceptions accumulated by previous generations.

But life seems to be deeper and more complex than that. It's made of dances of rampant molecules, and little neutrino things, that are beyond the control of these tender, selfish minds of ours. Yes, suns, galaxies, and our hearts seem to be beyond mental rules, and they don't give a damn about traditions and ambitions.

There seems to be a wild universe, outside and inside of us. A universe that laughs at our attempts to digitize moments with rigidity, in the midst of an imperative of constant change. That ignores engineers and experts, and with spontaneous mischief, jumps over formulas and prescriptions, spilling over torrents of love, cosmic passions, and dawns, in an infinite party of Existence that seeks fulfillment, and the satisfaction of Love’s infinite whim. A universe that seems to be beyond the rhythms of life invented by our tired minds, and the context of all the perceptions of our imagination.

And well, my granddaughter Julia has just arrived. My time for daydreaming is over; I have to go back to "reality". Really?