The wind whispers slowly, as it brushes against my face, and rustles the leaves of a gently swaying tree. The moon bathes the surface of every roof and the peak of every tree in its pale white light. The street lamps illuminate the path for the nocturnal traveler, flickering now and then. The stars twinkle in the sky. The darkness attempts to swallow every unguarded corner. The owl flies about in search of prey. Sleep prevails everywhere.
Suddenly, I am awakened into consciousness from the state of observing the various elements of the night, in which I was deeply absorbed, and realize something. I wonder about it. I wonder curiously, steadily.
Who am I? What is my purpose in this vast world of awe?
I am, as every other tiny molecule of the universe, a gift from the creator of all. I thrive for the same purpose as for which, everything else thrives. Everything else living, burning, dying, and being born. I am no more different than the tiny speckle of dust on the ground; than the snake slithering through the grass; than the beggar on the street, begging for alms. I am, and forevermore will be, equal to all things, no matter whether great or small, living or dead. I am the universe.
Although I realize it in moments of truth, I cannot fully understand it. It is so thoroughly abstruse.
On a simpler note, I have no desire for projecting myself as a cavalier braggart who is deeply submerged in the thought that no knowledge can exceed my own. Because if I turn out to be as such, I know that I would obstruct the radiant golden shafts of our beloved sun to supply us living beings with the sweet, ethereal energy of life.
Well, I wrote this about 6 years ago, and it still holds true.