I offer a suggestion: no matter how small we may feel within the circumstances of life—local, national, planetary, or cosmic—our momentary acts of love contribute to a larger story, a greater labor, a great work already in the making. Our small acts of love are among the building blocks of this greater work. We are building a cathedral.
Teilhard de Chardin speaks of this cathedral as Omega—the fulfillment of the cosmic process in which love becomes all in all. I cannot say with certainty that evolution is unfolding in this way. I do not know. No one knows. I take it on faith and hope. But I do know that the very possibility of building a cathedral—understood as a vision of where the universe may be headed—has the power to inspire those who might otherwise feel that their efforts are futile. It helps to realize that we are building something that is more than us: more loving and more beautiful.
I borrow this image from an old story. As it goes, a traveler came upon three stonecutters working at a construction site and asked each what they were doing. The first, focused on the immediate task, answered, “I am cutting stone.” The second, with a practical perspective, replied, “I am earning a living.” But the third, with a light in his eyes, responded, “I am building a cathedral.”
Though all three were engaged in the same labor, their perspectives shaped their understanding of its significance. The first saw only the physical work before him. The second framed it as a means of survival. But the third saw himself as part of something greater—an endeavor that would endure beyond his lifetime.
This story resonates deeply in our time, as many struggle to find a way to live into the third perspective. In an age marked by uncertainty, climate crisis, political instability, authoritarianism, unspeakable violence, and a pervasive sense of fragmentation, it can be difficult to see our daily actions as contributing to a larger, sacred unfolding. Many feel trapped between survival and despair, unable to glimpse the greater vision that gives meaning to their labor and love.
Yet, Teilhard’s vision—and a process perspective—invite us to see ourselves as builders of something more enduring, even in disappointing times. Teilhard calls it Omega; I will call it a Cathedral of Love and Beauty--one that is not only personal but planetary, and perhaps even cosmic. I suggest that Omega has three dimensions:
I emphasize Beauty because I do not know if it is plausible to think of the entire universe as drawn toward love. Maybe so. But I do think it plausible to think that it is drawn toward different kinds of beauty or, as Whitehead puts it, various kinds of intensity: stellar beauty, planetary beauty, galactic beauty, atomic beauty, and more. And I find it plausible that these many kinds of intensity might themselves be gathered into a still larger whole, an inclusive beauty, that lies in the future of the universe, even as finite events pass away. This is that I mean by a cosmic unfolding as a fulness of beauty.
By Beauty, I mean many things: cosmic beauty, moral beauty, soul beauty, social beauty, natural beauty, and tragic beauty. As a Christian, I believe Love is the ultimate form of Beauty, but not the only form. Beauty is found in wonder, in play, in poignancy, in community, in mystery, and in zest for life. Beauty has many faces.
To see ourselves as builders of this Beauty is to embrace a way of living in which our daily choices contribute to something beyond ourselves. It is to trust that, even in times of despair, no act of love is wasted. It is to work for ecological civilizations here and now while holding open the possibility that our efforts reverberate far beyond what we can see. It is to recognize that, though we may never see the full cathedral, we are part of its construction, laying stones with each act of love, justice, and beauty.
The remainder of this page is an amplification of this proposal in different ways.
Teilhard de Chardin speaks of this cathedral as Omega—the fulfillment of the cosmic process in which love becomes all in all. I cannot say with certainty that evolution is unfolding in this way. I do not know. No one knows. I take it on faith and hope. But I do know that the very possibility of building a cathedral—understood as a vision of where the universe may be headed—has the power to inspire those who might otherwise feel that their efforts are futile. It helps to realize that we are building something that is more than us: more loving and more beautiful.
I borrow this image from an old story. As it goes, a traveler came upon three stonecutters working at a construction site and asked each what they were doing. The first, focused on the immediate task, answered, “I am cutting stone.” The second, with a practical perspective, replied, “I am earning a living.” But the third, with a light in his eyes, responded, “I am building a cathedral.”
Though all three were engaged in the same labor, their perspectives shaped their understanding of its significance. The first saw only the physical work before him. The second framed it as a means of survival. But the third saw himself as part of something greater—an endeavor that would endure beyond his lifetime.
This story resonates deeply in our time, as many struggle to find a way to live into the third perspective. In an age marked by uncertainty, climate crisis, political instability, authoritarianism, unspeakable violence, and a pervasive sense of fragmentation, it can be difficult to see our daily actions as contributing to a larger, sacred unfolding. Many feel trapped between survival and despair, unable to glimpse the greater vision that gives meaning to their labor and love.
Yet, Teilhard’s vision—and a process perspective—invite us to see ourselves as builders of something more enduring, even in disappointing times. Teilhard calls it Omega; I will call it a Cathedral of Love and Beauty--one that is not only personal but planetary, and perhaps even cosmic. I suggest that Omega has three dimensions:
- A Divine Reality already present—It is realized in what Alfred North Whitehead calls the consequent nature of God, the ever-evolving, loving receptacle of the world’s experiences. Omega is the womb in which life unfolds, the living Whole.
- A Historical goal for life on Earth—The building of Ecological Civilizations in which people live with respect and care for the community of life. Omega is God's dream for the earth: a dream that we humans may take our place in the larger scheme of the web of life on earth, and take care of one another in the process.
- A Cosmic unfolding toward Beauty—A fullness of beauty that includes the stars and planets, the heavens and the earths. Omega is a Beauty - a creative intensity - toward which the entire universe is drawn, with our small planet within it.
I emphasize Beauty because I do not know if it is plausible to think of the entire universe as drawn toward love. Maybe so. But I do think it plausible to think that it is drawn toward different kinds of beauty or, as Whitehead puts it, various kinds of intensity: stellar beauty, planetary beauty, galactic beauty, atomic beauty, and more. And I find it plausible that these many kinds of intensity might themselves be gathered into a still larger whole, an inclusive beauty, that lies in the future of the universe, even as finite events pass away. This is that I mean by a cosmic unfolding as a fulness of beauty.
By Beauty, I mean many things: cosmic beauty, moral beauty, soul beauty, social beauty, natural beauty, and tragic beauty. As a Christian, I believe Love is the ultimate form of Beauty, but not the only form. Beauty is found in wonder, in play, in poignancy, in community, in mystery, and in zest for life. Beauty has many faces.
To see ourselves as builders of this Beauty is to embrace a way of living in which our daily choices contribute to something beyond ourselves. It is to trust that, even in times of despair, no act of love is wasted. It is to work for ecological civilizations here and now while holding open the possibility that our efforts reverberate far beyond what we can see. It is to recognize that, though we may never see the full cathedral, we are part of its construction, laying stones with each act of love, justice, and beauty.
The remainder of this page is an amplification of this proposal in different ways.
Confessions of a Process Theologian
As a process theologian, I have come to realize ever more deeply that process thought, for all its richness, lacks something essential. It offers a philosophy, a cosmology, a metaphysics—indeed, a metaphysics of empathy, which envisions the fundamental units of actuality as emerging out of “feelings of the feelings” of one another. And it offers a certain way of understanding God as a living Whole in which all things unfold—an ongoing concrescence of the universe. But it does not offer a story. It does not provide an aesthetically compelling narrative of the history of consciousness, one that situates us within a larger cosmic unfolding in a way that resonates with the depths of human longing.
We need more than abstract principles of creativity, interconnectedness, and becoming. We need a narrative that speaks to the heart as well as the mind—a story that can hold the weight of suffering, the struggle for meaning, and the beauty of existence, even when our efforts seem futile. Such a story would not be a rigid doctrine but an open-ended mythos, a way of seeing ourselves as participants in an ongoing cosmic drama, where novelty and transformation are real possibilities, and where the universe itself is not merely a system but a living, evolving story.
Without this narrative, process thought remains intellectually robust but emotionally incomplete. It provides a powerful framework for understanding reality, yet it does not inspire in the way that great myths, religious traditions, and poetic visions do. What we need is a process theology that is not only metaphysically coherent but also imaginatively compelling—a story that can sustain us through the long night of history and help us recognize that, even in our darkest moments, we are part of something larger than ourselves, something unfinished and full of possibility.
Teilhard de Chardin offers one possible story—a narrative of consciousness unfolding within the evolutionary fabric of the cosmos. His vision is one of emergence, where the universe is not merely a vast, indifferent expanse but a process of increasing complexity, interiority, and convergence toward what he calls the Omega Point. Teilhard’s story is compelling because it unites science and mysticism, weaving together the material and the spiritual, the empirical and the poetic. He sees consciousness as something present, in nascent form, from the very beginning—a latent potential within matter itself that intensifies over time, giving rise to life, thought, and ultimately a planetary consciousness in which humanity plays an integral role.
Yet, from a process theological perspective, Teilhard’s vision may need modification. His teleological emphasis on the Omega Point as a singular culmination of evolution risks overshadowing the pluralistic and improvisational nature of becoming that process thought embraces. Rather than a single, ultimate destiny, process theology suggests an open-ended unfolding—an ongoing, relational drama in which new possibilities continually emerge, and no final state is predetermined.
Even so, Teilhard’s story provides something that process thought, as typically articulated, often lacks: an emotionally and imaginatively compelling vision of history and destiny, one that invites us to see ourselves not merely as observers of the cosmos but as participants in its unfolding. Perhaps, then, the task before us is not to replace his vision but to build upon it—to expand it through a process lens, one that affirms the creativity of the cosmos, the agency of all beings, and the ever-present lure of the sacred calling us toward greater beauty, depth, and love.
Reconciling Teilhard’s Omega with Process Thought
One way to bridge Teilhard’s understanding of the Omega Point with a Whiteheadian process perspective involves two key steps.
The first is to rethink the Omega Point not as a distant, final culmination of history but as what Whitehead calls the consequent nature of God—the living Whole of the universe, continuously enriched by all experiences. This is the side of God that empathetically feels the feelings of each and every event in the universe, such that nothing is ever lost but instead woven into divine life. Rather than a fixed endpoint, this is an ongoing and everlasting Now into which all things are gathered, contributing to the divine reality. It is not a singular, dimensionless moment in the future but a perpetually cresting Wave that includes all finite waves, where the “many” that emerge from the world become “one” in God’s love.
On this view, God is not merely an abstract force but an ever-present companion, receiving and holding the world’s joys and sufferings with infinite care. All things, as they occur, contribute to the evolving divine life—an idea that evokes Teilhard’s sense of the sacred dimension of history. We humans, and all creatures on our planet or in any other dimension of the universe, are always already inside the ongoing life of Omega.
However, this alone is not enough to generate the cosmological and historical hope that Teilhard envisions. While the consequent nature of God assures us that nothing is lost, it does not, by itself, provide a forward-looking, adventurous vision of history.
The second step, then, is to include Whitehead’s primordial and superjective nature of God—the divine lure toward beauty, which operates within each moment of becoming. Traditionally, process thought describes this lure as acting within each entity, guiding it toward the best possible realization of its potential in a given situation. But this lure is not merely individual; it can also be collective, summoning humanity toward the flourishing of all life. Teilhard invites us to imagine this lure as the beckoning presence of a world in which love is all in all—a sacred pull toward greater unity, creativity, and mutual transformation.
Teilhard’s Omega Point thus becomes, from a process perspective, not a predetermined final state but an ever-present invitation toward a more harmonious and interconnected future. It is not a rigid telos but a call to participate in the ongoing creation of a world in which love, justice, and beauty are continually deepened. The process cosmos is not merely drifting but is always being lured toward greater possibilities—not through coercion, but through persuasion, through the gentle insistence of a divine love that invites rather than dictates.
= Jay McDaniel
We need more than abstract principles of creativity, interconnectedness, and becoming. We need a narrative that speaks to the heart as well as the mind—a story that can hold the weight of suffering, the struggle for meaning, and the beauty of existence, even when our efforts seem futile. Such a story would not be a rigid doctrine but an open-ended mythos, a way of seeing ourselves as participants in an ongoing cosmic drama, where novelty and transformation are real possibilities, and where the universe itself is not merely a system but a living, evolving story.
Without this narrative, process thought remains intellectually robust but emotionally incomplete. It provides a powerful framework for understanding reality, yet it does not inspire in the way that great myths, religious traditions, and poetic visions do. What we need is a process theology that is not only metaphysically coherent but also imaginatively compelling—a story that can sustain us through the long night of history and help us recognize that, even in our darkest moments, we are part of something larger than ourselves, something unfinished and full of possibility.
Teilhard de Chardin offers one possible story—a narrative of consciousness unfolding within the evolutionary fabric of the cosmos. His vision is one of emergence, where the universe is not merely a vast, indifferent expanse but a process of increasing complexity, interiority, and convergence toward what he calls the Omega Point. Teilhard’s story is compelling because it unites science and mysticism, weaving together the material and the spiritual, the empirical and the poetic. He sees consciousness as something present, in nascent form, from the very beginning—a latent potential within matter itself that intensifies over time, giving rise to life, thought, and ultimately a planetary consciousness in which humanity plays an integral role.
Yet, from a process theological perspective, Teilhard’s vision may need modification. His teleological emphasis on the Omega Point as a singular culmination of evolution risks overshadowing the pluralistic and improvisational nature of becoming that process thought embraces. Rather than a single, ultimate destiny, process theology suggests an open-ended unfolding—an ongoing, relational drama in which new possibilities continually emerge, and no final state is predetermined.
Even so, Teilhard’s story provides something that process thought, as typically articulated, often lacks: an emotionally and imaginatively compelling vision of history and destiny, one that invites us to see ourselves not merely as observers of the cosmos but as participants in its unfolding. Perhaps, then, the task before us is not to replace his vision but to build upon it—to expand it through a process lens, one that affirms the creativity of the cosmos, the agency of all beings, and the ever-present lure of the sacred calling us toward greater beauty, depth, and love.
Reconciling Teilhard’s Omega with Process Thought
One way to bridge Teilhard’s understanding of the Omega Point with a Whiteheadian process perspective involves two key steps.
The first is to rethink the Omega Point not as a distant, final culmination of history but as what Whitehead calls the consequent nature of God—the living Whole of the universe, continuously enriched by all experiences. This is the side of God that empathetically feels the feelings of each and every event in the universe, such that nothing is ever lost but instead woven into divine life. Rather than a fixed endpoint, this is an ongoing and everlasting Now into which all things are gathered, contributing to the divine reality. It is not a singular, dimensionless moment in the future but a perpetually cresting Wave that includes all finite waves, where the “many” that emerge from the world become “one” in God’s love.
On this view, God is not merely an abstract force but an ever-present companion, receiving and holding the world’s joys and sufferings with infinite care. All things, as they occur, contribute to the evolving divine life—an idea that evokes Teilhard’s sense of the sacred dimension of history. We humans, and all creatures on our planet or in any other dimension of the universe, are always already inside the ongoing life of Omega.
However, this alone is not enough to generate the cosmological and historical hope that Teilhard envisions. While the consequent nature of God assures us that nothing is lost, it does not, by itself, provide a forward-looking, adventurous vision of history.
The second step, then, is to include Whitehead’s primordial and superjective nature of God—the divine lure toward beauty, which operates within each moment of becoming. Traditionally, process thought describes this lure as acting within each entity, guiding it toward the best possible realization of its potential in a given situation. But this lure is not merely individual; it can also be collective, summoning humanity toward the flourishing of all life. Teilhard invites us to imagine this lure as the beckoning presence of a world in which love is all in all—a sacred pull toward greater unity, creativity, and mutual transformation.
Teilhard’s Omega Point thus becomes, from a process perspective, not a predetermined final state but an ever-present invitation toward a more harmonious and interconnected future. It is not a rigid telos but a call to participate in the ongoing creation of a world in which love, justice, and beauty are continually deepened. The process cosmos is not merely drifting but is always being lured toward greater possibilities—not through coercion, but through persuasion, through the gentle insistence of a divine love that invites rather than dictates.
= Jay McDaniel
Three Meanings of Omega
Teilhard’s invitation to see ourselves as part of a cosmic unfolding can be deepened through the metaphor of the Cathedral of Love and Beauty, drawn from the old story of the stonecutters at Chartres Cathedral. As noted above the Cathedral can be understood in one or some combination of three ways:
Omega as a Symbolic Image for All Three
From a process perspective, the Omega Point can be understood not as a fixed destination but as a symbolic image that names all three dimensions of the Cathedral of Love and Beauty — God’s ongoing receptacle of experience, the work of building just and sustainable civilizations, and the cosmic hope that our efforts contribute to something beyond what we can yet imagine. Omega is not a single endpoint but a living, dynamic presence, calling us forward and giving our efforts meaning.
As the consequent nature of God, Omega is the great, ever-growing wholeness of divine life, in which every moment is received and nothing is lost. As the lure toward ecological civilizations, Omega is the beckoning presence of a world in which love, justice, and beauty shape human and planetary existence. And as cosmic hope, Omega is the intuition that the work of love is never in vain, that it carries significance beyond even the history of Earth itself.
Living as Builders of the Cathedral
These three meanings—God’s ever-growing receptacle of love, the emergence of just and sustainable civilizations, and the distant hope of a cosmic destiny—are not mutually exclusive. They are dimensions of the same sacred reality, overlapping and enriching one another. The Cathedral of Love and Beauty is both present and future, both immanent and transcendent.
To see ourselves as its builders is to embrace a way of living in which our daily choices contribute to something beyond ourselves. It is to trust that, even in times of despair, no act of love is wasted. It is to work for ecological civilizations here and now, while holding open the possibility that our efforts reverberate far beyond what we can see. It is to recognize that, though we may never see the full cathedral, we are part of its construction, laying stones with each act of love, justice, and beauty.
In this way, Teilhard’s vision and process theology converge—not in a closed, deterministic narrative, but in an invitation: to participate, to trust, and to build.
- Jay McDaniel
- As the Ongoing Consequent Nature of God: In one sense, the Cathedral of Love and Beauty already exists. It is the ever-deepening reality of divine life itself—the consequent nature of God, in Whitehead’s terms—wherein every moment of experience, every act of love, every creative impulse is received, remembered, and woven into a divine wholeness. Nothing is lost; nothing is in vain. Each moment contributes to what Whitehead called "the harmony of harmonies," a love that embraces all things, giving them meaning beyond their immediate context. This is a cathedral not of stone but of experience itself, growing as the universe unfolds.
- As the Emergence of Ecological Civilizations: But the Cathedral of Love and Beauty is not only an abstract, cosmic reality; it is also something we build here and now. It takes form in the emergence of ecological civilizations—societies in which people live with respect and care for the community of life, embracing justice, sustainability, and compassion as guiding principles. These civilizations do not arise fully formed but emerge through countless small acts: policies that honor the dignity of all beings, practices that cultivate ecological harmony, and cultural shifts that place relationality at the heart of human existence. When we work to build communities of love, care, and justice, we are laying the stones of this living cathedral, shaping a world in which life flourishes.
- As a More Distant, Cosmic Hope: Finally, the Cathedral of Love and Beauty extends beyond what we can immediately grasp. Teilhard imagined an Omega Point, a final convergence of consciousness and love. Process theology, with its emphasis on open-ended becoming, resists such a fixed telos. Yet, it allows for the hope that the history of life on Earth is contributing to something greater than we can imagine—perhaps something truly cosmic in scope. Could our actions, our struggles, our aspirations be part of a larger evolutionary arc, one that extends beyond our planet, beyond our species, beyond even what we call life? We cannot say with certainty, but the hope remains: that love, rather than entropy, has the final word; that the cathedral we are building is not confined to this world alone but is part of a vast, unfolding mystery.
Omega as a Symbolic Image for All Three
From a process perspective, the Omega Point can be understood not as a fixed destination but as a symbolic image that names all three dimensions of the Cathedral of Love and Beauty — God’s ongoing receptacle of experience, the work of building just and sustainable civilizations, and the cosmic hope that our efforts contribute to something beyond what we can yet imagine. Omega is not a single endpoint but a living, dynamic presence, calling us forward and giving our efforts meaning.
As the consequent nature of God, Omega is the great, ever-growing wholeness of divine life, in which every moment is received and nothing is lost. As the lure toward ecological civilizations, Omega is the beckoning presence of a world in which love, justice, and beauty shape human and planetary existence. And as cosmic hope, Omega is the intuition that the work of love is never in vain, that it carries significance beyond even the history of Earth itself.
Living as Builders of the Cathedral
These three meanings—God’s ever-growing receptacle of love, the emergence of just and sustainable civilizations, and the distant hope of a cosmic destiny—are not mutually exclusive. They are dimensions of the same sacred reality, overlapping and enriching one another. The Cathedral of Love and Beauty is both present and future, both immanent and transcendent.
To see ourselves as its builders is to embrace a way of living in which our daily choices contribute to something beyond ourselves. It is to trust that, even in times of despair, no act of love is wasted. It is to work for ecological civilizations here and now, while holding open the possibility that our efforts reverberate far beyond what we can see. It is to recognize that, though we may never see the full cathedral, we are part of its construction, laying stones with each act of love, justice, and beauty.
In this way, Teilhard’s vision and process theology converge—not in a closed, deterministic narrative, but in an invitation: to participate, to trust, and to build.
- Jay McDaniel
Why I Need Teilhard
in times like these
imaginary college student
I like open and relational (process) thought. I appreciate the way it offers a framework for understanding God as open, relational, and deeply involved in the unfolding of the world. There’s something beautiful about a vision of God that is not distant or unchanging, but instead dynamically engaged with creation, responding in love. I understand that in process thought God is the living Whole of the universe itself and that everything in the universe is connected to everything else, evolving wholes within the Whole. I like all of this, too.
But I need something more.
I need a sense of purpose—a larger purpose beyond simply living my life, being a kind and decent person, or striving to be a good citizen. Those things matter, of course, but they don’t feel like enough, especially now. My country is falling apart, and with it, so many of my hopes and dreams for what it could be. In times like these, I need something that not only helps me make sense of the chaos but also gives me a reason to keep going, to be excited about life, to feel that my existence matters in a deeper way.
That’s why I find Teilhard’s vision so compelling. He offers me something that process thought doesn’t—a sense that I am part of a larger story, a cosmic unfolding with a goal, however distant. He calls this ultimate goal the Omega Point—a state of affairs in which love is all in all.
As a Christian, I think of Omega as akin to the New Jerusalem, the future for which Christians have always hoped. It is ahead of us, not behind us, a reality still coming into being. But I don’t see it as a state of affairs where the bad are punished and the good rewarded. That kind of thinking—dividing people into those who "deserve" redemption and those who don’t—feels too small, too human. Instead, I imagine it as a state of affairs in which all are transformed into something more beautiful, something that is itself creative.
I experience Omega as a pulling power. It is not a fixed destiny but a lure, a gravitational force of love drawing all things forward. It is not coercive; it does not force or demand. Instead, it calls, invites, awakens. It stirs something within me—a longing, a restlessness, a desire to move toward something greater. Even in my smallest actions, I can feel its presence, urging me toward love, toward wholeness, toward deeper connection.
And I see this pull not just in my own experience, but in the history of consciousness itself—a consciousness that has been implicit since the very beginning of the universe. From the first flickers of awareness in the simplest forms of life to the unfolding of thought, creativity, and love in human history, something has been growing, emerging, yearning. This consciousness is not an accident. It has been present from the start, woven into the fabric of existence itself.
It’s not just an abstract hope; it’s an invitation. An invitation to participate in the world’s ongoing evolution toward something more whole, more beautiful, more alive. This vision gives me hope. It tells me that even when things seem to be unraveling—when my country feels like it's falling apart, when the future feels uncertain—I am still part of something greater.
Even my small acts of kindness matter. They may not matter locally, they may not matter to politicians or to those in power, but in the larger scheme, they are part of the slow, patient work of love shaping the world. Every gesture of compassion, every choice to act in love rather than despair, contributes to this unfolding story.
And that is enough to keep me going.
But I need something more.
I need a sense of purpose—a larger purpose beyond simply living my life, being a kind and decent person, or striving to be a good citizen. Those things matter, of course, but they don’t feel like enough, especially now. My country is falling apart, and with it, so many of my hopes and dreams for what it could be. In times like these, I need something that not only helps me make sense of the chaos but also gives me a reason to keep going, to be excited about life, to feel that my existence matters in a deeper way.
That’s why I find Teilhard’s vision so compelling. He offers me something that process thought doesn’t—a sense that I am part of a larger story, a cosmic unfolding with a goal, however distant. He calls this ultimate goal the Omega Point—a state of affairs in which love is all in all.
As a Christian, I think of Omega as akin to the New Jerusalem, the future for which Christians have always hoped. It is ahead of us, not behind us, a reality still coming into being. But I don’t see it as a state of affairs where the bad are punished and the good rewarded. That kind of thinking—dividing people into those who "deserve" redemption and those who don’t—feels too small, too human. Instead, I imagine it as a state of affairs in which all are transformed into something more beautiful, something that is itself creative.
I experience Omega as a pulling power. It is not a fixed destiny but a lure, a gravitational force of love drawing all things forward. It is not coercive; it does not force or demand. Instead, it calls, invites, awakens. It stirs something within me—a longing, a restlessness, a desire to move toward something greater. Even in my smallest actions, I can feel its presence, urging me toward love, toward wholeness, toward deeper connection.
And I see this pull not just in my own experience, but in the history of consciousness itself—a consciousness that has been implicit since the very beginning of the universe. From the first flickers of awareness in the simplest forms of life to the unfolding of thought, creativity, and love in human history, something has been growing, emerging, yearning. This consciousness is not an accident. It has been present from the start, woven into the fabric of existence itself.
It’s not just an abstract hope; it’s an invitation. An invitation to participate in the world’s ongoing evolution toward something more whole, more beautiful, more alive. This vision gives me hope. It tells me that even when things seem to be unraveling—when my country feels like it's falling apart, when the future feels uncertain—I am still part of something greater.
Even my small acts of kindness matter. They may not matter locally, they may not matter to politicians or to those in power, but in the larger scheme, they are part of the slow, patient work of love shaping the world. Every gesture of compassion, every choice to act in love rather than despair, contributes to this unfolding story.
And that is enough to keep me going.