There’s been significant lip service paid to “the universe.”

For example:

  • “The universe is clearly telling me something here.”

  • “We’ll see what the universe wants.”

  • “I offered it up to the universe.”

There’s no question it can get lonely out there, but when did the universe become “the other?” 

That’s a pretty neat trick.

This all-knowing “other” is the answer to all our questions, and we spend our lives trying to communicate with it. 

Or if you’re like I was, we profess to try, because:

  1. It looks good to appear “aware,” or

  2. It’s good form to have faith in the cosmos.

My own experience was different. I spent decades sending unanswered messages to the universe, and all I felt was lonely. 

How could I know I was here if no one answered me? Was I even here?

Out of that simple question came another one. 

When did I make “the universe” responsible for what happened in my life? 


I knew there were moments along the way when I didn’t feel alone. In those moments, who was with me? 

It began to dawn on me that I’d never been alone. 

“The universe” wasn’t holding out on me, because it had nothing to offer me. I was already a part of it. In my lonely efforts to matter, I forgot I already mattered to me. 

Those occasional moments of grace were me knowing, like a child knows it’s safe, that I belonged to me. 

Feeling whole is not a path or a process. It’s an accumulation of guided experiences that gradually become where you choose to be. 

If you can sense your personhood occasionally, but would like to do so more often, I’d love to help. 


Scott Plate

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