When God Goes for a Walk: Discovering the Infinite in Everyday Moments

Today, as I sat in the park under the shade of a tree, I had an epiphany. It was a beautiful sunny day, warm but not oppressive, the kind of day that gently invites reflection. Before me stretched the walking and riding path around the lake. People were scattered along its curve—families, couples, children, joggers, and wanderers—all inhabiting the same space but living entirely unique moments. As I watched, something deeper stirred in me. I began to sense that what I was really witnessing was God, or consciousness itself, experiencing its own creation—not in some abstract theological sense, but in the immediate, ordinary, breathtakingly subtle unfolding of life around me.

There were geese gliding across the surface of the lake, their movements serene, synchronized, and effortless. In the tree above, a bird shifted on its branch and sang, its song carrying across the air. A little girl zipped past on an electric hoverboard, her laughter rising like sunlight, while lovers held hands and leaned close to whisper private words. Dogs tugged on leashes, eager to move faster, while their humans smiled and followed. Joggers’ faces glistened with sweat, a visible testament to discipline and movement. Families sprawled on picnic blankets, breaking bread, sharing fruit, and talking in tones of comfort and familiarity. Each of these was more than just an activity. Each moment was a distinct expression of being alive, a singular lens through which the great consciousness—the divine mind—was experiencing itself.

I’ve long believed that God, or what I often call consciousness, experiences creation through us. But today I realized something subtler: it is not only the broad strokes of life that matter, not only the grand events or collective moments. It is the nuances—the slight tilt of a child’s head, the unique rhythm of each jogger’s pace, the particular inflection of a laugh, the way the light filters differently through each person’s gaze. No two experiences are ever the same, and no two lives ever mirror one another fully. Within each human soul lies an infinite kaleidoscope of potential, and within each moment of experience lies a fractal of divine awareness. The diversity of experience is not incidental; it is essential. It is God’s artistry revealed through infinite brushstrokes of individuality.

As I sat there, I allowed my mind to stretch further. I thought not only of the joyous and serene experiences—the picnics, the lovers, the children playing—but also of the darker currents that run through human history. Wars, conflicts, grief, betrayal, sickness, pain—all of these too are part of the infinite spectrum of experience. They are not pleasant, nor do I glorify them, but they are real. And in being real, they too are absorbed into the infinite tapestry of consciousness. Just as a painting needs shadow to reveal its light, the human story seems to require its contrasts. The divine, it seems, is not confined to the easy or the joyful; it permeates the whole. Even the difficult, the tragic, the unjust moments are unique expressions of being, opportunities through which consciousness experiences yet another dimension of itself.

What struck me most powerfully was the sheer inexhaustibility of it all. Just within humanity—this one small species on one small planet in an unfathomably vast cosmos—there exists an infinite potential for experience. Each individual is a center of awareness, a unique filter through which consciousness perceives creation. Even when two people share the same moment, like a husband and wife sitting together at a picnic, they do not experience it identically. One notices the warmth of the sun, the other hears the wind moving through the leaves. One reflects on the past week, the other anticipates the meal about to begin. The moment itself becomes doubled, tripled, multiplied infinitely by the uniqueness of perception. And when you stretch that across billions of individuals, across cultures, languages, histories, and lifetimes, you realize that consciousness has an unending reservoir of possibility. It will never repeat itself exactly, never exhaust its own capacity to experience.

This realization is both humbling and liberating. It humbles me because I recognize that my perspective, as rich as it may feel, is but one tiny thread in this infinite fabric. And yet, it liberates me because that one thread matters—it is irreplaceable. Without it, the tapestry would be incomplete. Every individual, no matter how seemingly small or obscure, contributes something vital to the whole. The homeless man sitting on a park bench, the executive rushing to a meeting, the artist sketching under the shade, the mother quieting her child—all are necessary facets of divine experience. Consciousness has chosen to wear their faces, to feel their emotions, to live their lives. And in doing so, God is enriched.

I find myself reflecting also on the question of meaning. If every experience is a facet of divine consciousness, then no experience is wasted. Joys are not only joys for us; they are joys for the cosmos itself. Sorrows are not only sorrows for us; they are part of the great unfolding story of consciousness learning itself. Each time we laugh, consciousness discovers a new shade of laughter. Each time we suffer, consciousness deepens its capacity for compassion. And perhaps, in ways we cannot fully see, our individual lives contribute to a larger arc, a story of the divine awakening more fully to itself through its creation.

Sitting there at the park, I realized that this way of seeing removes hierarchy from human experience. The jogger’s sweat and the child’s laughter, the geese’s floating and the soldier’s grief, all have value. None are trivial; none are meaningless. Each moment is a brushstroke, and every brushstroke contributes to the masterpiece. We may not always understand how the darker strokes fit in, but perhaps that is because we see too narrowly, too close to the canvas. God sees the whole. Consciousness beholds the totality, and in that totality, nothing is wasted, nothing is excluded.

This perspective also invites a shift in how we live. If each moment of experience is an opportunity for consciousness to know itself, then we are invited to bring awareness to those moments. To savor them. To honor them. When I see a family laying out a picnic, I can pause to marvel that consciousness has chosen to be that family today. When I see a man jogging, I can recognize that consciousness has chosen to feel the strain of muscles and the rhythm of breath in his form. When I encounter suffering, even in myself, I can remember that this too is consciousness exploring a new depth. That does not mean I glorify suffering or seek it, but I acknowledge that even it has its place within the infinite mosaic.

As the sun shifted and the light on the lake grew brighter, I felt a quiet gratitude. Gratitude for being alive in this particular body, with these particular perceptions, at this particular moment. Gratitude for the infinite uniqueness of each life unfolding around me. Gratitude that God is not far away, not abstract, not aloof, but here—right here—in every breath, every laugh, every tear, every gesture. God is the geese floating. God is the girl on the hoverboard. God is the couple holding hands. God is the jogger, the picnicker, the bird in the tree. God is also the soldier in the trenches, the refugee seeking shelter, the mother grieving her child. All of it is God, all of it is consciousness, all of it is life.

What I glimpsed today at the park was that we are not separate from this divine unfolding; we are the unfolding. Our uniqueness is the very means through which the infinite knows itself. Each of us is an irreplaceable expression, a singular angle of vision, a note in the eternal song. And when we learn to see the world this way, when we awaken to the subtle truth that nothing is wasted, nothing is duplicated, nothing is without meaning, then we begin to rest. We begin to trust. We begin to live with reverence for the ordinary, which is always, at its core, extraordinary.