Small Epihpany

Last night I went for a run/walk in the woods. I was going hard, trying to run away from this week. Music pumping, constant loop of harangue going in my brain--generally about how much I hate running.
It was a beautiful night though, and at some point I noticed this.
Even as I stood there stunned motionless by the beauty I could finally see, my brain still whirled like a waterwheel on the crazy river of these past few months.
All the stress, all the pressure, all the decisions I've had to make, all the commitments being asked, all the heartbreaking realizations and losses--I wondered how I would survive this.
But. That is the only thing I am certain I am good at--surviving. Empirical evidence: 48 years of survival.
In the end, even in the deepest of dark moments I survive.
Things, people, love and heartache will come and go, but I persist.
And what do I need really to survive? Looking around I realized that all I needed was here.
Above me were the entwined fingers of the overhanging trees, the honeysuckle, blown into flower hung heavy in the air, and the warm humid breeze felt as gentle as a caress.
I was in the presence of the Divine. God, Nature, What Is, The Windhover--whatever you would choose to call it, the Divine reached for me.
There, cradled in its arms, safer and more wanted than in the arms of any lover, I understood finally the most important truth I can ever know.
I am.
That is it.
Me. Bee.
I am.
I am never alone, never can be. Even if I don't realize it, even if I don't notice or care; the holy goes on.
The holy is the force that through the green fuse drives the flower, it is the fresh smell after a summer rain, it is the motion in my limbs, it is the moonrise in my window.
It is me.
I stood a long while in its grace and listened to it speak with the old brag of my heart:
I am. You are. I am. You are.