What Could I Give the Infinite?

My Offering: One Minute

There was a time when I thought the purpose of meditation was to receive something.

I don’t think that anymore. Or at least, not primarily.

Recently I had a moment where I was just filled with gratitude to The All and I started thinking…

What could I possibly give back?

It’s a strange question if you think about it.

If there really is something larger than us—a Higher Power, God, the Universe, the Designer of Physics, the Great Mystery, whatever language feels right to you—what could it possibly need from me?

My advice? That’s hilarious.

Maybe my achievements. I try to follow The Path on a continuous basis.

Definitely not my attempts to micromanage reality.

And yet gratitude naturally wants to move somewhere.

When you receive enough unexpected gifts, you begin looking around for something to offer in return.

That is how this little practice began.

As a gift.

I offer one minute.

The intent is just literal one minute but I don’t set a timer.

A minute with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

A small container of human time.

I don’t worry about getting it right. But I do my best.

I simply make the decision.

For the next minute, this is yours.

And then I sit.

But if I were an infinte being… a m i n u t e… would be like a delicacy.

A brief experience of linear time.

A single drop of something I have in abundance and eternity may never get to experience.

So I offer it.

I hold it gently.

I try to widen the space between seconds for the maximum experience.

I let The Everything In.

I make room.

And then I wait.

Not the kind of waiting where you’re secretly preparing your next thought.

Not the kind of waiting where you’re checking whether anything interesting is happening.

The way you wait for a friend to answer a question.

Present.

Listening.

Expectant, but not demanding.

Available.

Sometimes my mind wanders.

Sometimes it wanders a lot.

That’s okay. I ease it back. As many times as necessary without judgement.

Because somewhere along the way, this practice stopped feeling like a performance.

But the gift is still received with delight.

I often think my Higher Power feels that way about my careless minutes.

And whether that’s objectively true or not hardly matters.

Because something changes.

The silence stops feeling empty.

It begins feeling occupied.

Not crowded.

Not noisy.

And something else begins to happen.

Ideas or inspirations arrive. Not in the minute. But they appear… from n o w h e r e … sometimes fully formed.

Not chased.
Never forced.
Not because I earn them. (Isn’t that delicious?)
They simply appear.

Sometimes as clarity. Sometimes as a feeling. Sometimes as a single breadcrumb that won’t make sense until later. Sometimes as a truth that is painful to see but strangely lighter than the effort it took to avoid seeing it.

Logic still has a seat at the table. I remain deeply grateful for logic. Logic helps evaluate ideas and test assumptions. Logic helps separate inspiration from impulse.

But intuition deserves a seat too.

And for most of my life, I never really invited it in. I thought intuition was an occasional visitor. A lucky accident.

A curious little bonus feature of being human.

Now I suspect it may be one of the primary ways reality speaks.

Waiting for a little room.

Waiting for a minute.

So if you have a practice that works for you, keep it.

What works for you is best.

But if you are struggling to meditate perfectly…

If you’re tired of trying to quiet every thought…

If you’re tired of measuring your spiritual progress…

Perhaps try something simpler.

Offer a minute.

A minute of attention.

A minute of gratitude.

A minute of listening.

A minute of your wonderfully imperfect human time.

Offer it to whatever you hold sacred.

And then wait.

Just long enough to see what arrives.

Amy Dinaburg, Philosopher, Retired ER RN, MS (Molecular Biology)