When contemplating life and searching for deeper meaning, we can learn a lot from observing nature and the creatures that inhabit this beautiful planet.
This morning, while meditating, I noticed a bug crawling along the tile floor. I began wondering about its purpose and whether I could somehow interact with this little creature. I didn’t want to pick it up. I wanted to commune with it. I wanted the bug to contemplate me as I was contemplating it, then crawl onto my hand so we could share a moment of connection.
When that didn’t happen, I grew frustrated. Perhaps, I thought, I just needed to help the bug realize that it wanted to be on my finger. So I kept placing my finger in front of it. Each time, the bug ran away. Each time, I tried again, hoping it would finally oblige and climb aboard.
It clearly wanted nothing to do with my persistent, nagging appendage. Eventually, I had a moment of clarity and left the sweet little bug alone.
I realized I was trying to force an outcome. I kept making the same offer, hoping to receive what I wanted, and getting exactly the opposite response.
It struck me how often we do this in our own lives. When we want something—or believe something is right for us—we jump up and down, practically announcing to the universe: “I’m over here! Yes, right here. I’m ready for what I’ve been trying to manifest!”
Yet all that effort can keep us so focused on the outcome that we miss what’s actually happening in front of us.
What if I could take the “me” out of the equation? What if I could release some of the effort and desire, and trust that I don’t have to control every part of the experience?
For me, that’s part of the challenge of living with a sense of spiritual connection. I may believe that life has something to offer, but when it doesn’t arrive in the form or on the schedule I expect, I start to fuss. I tell myself I’m open to receiving, while quietly insisting that things unfold my way.
I’ve come to think that being receptive isn’t the same as waiting impatiently for a reward. It’s a practice of staying open, noticing what’s here, and remembering that I may not see the whole picture.
I find peace in the belief that my life has meaning and that I can move through it with less resistance. That doesn’t mean abandoning my dreams or refusing to act. It means loosening my grip on how everything must turn out.
Maybe we can learn something from a bug simply crawling along its path. We don’t always need to reach down and redirect what’s in front of us. Sometimes we can step aside, let another creature follow its own course, and pay attention to the path beneath our own feet.
Blessings to you,
Andrew