This grass blade is not a miracle, but it's Being is. The nectar of divine Existence bathes this blade of grass, and every creature that exists, in the sparkling energy of pure bliss, a substance too clear to be seen by the eyes in our head.
But to the eye of the heart, this pure Existence appears as a golden light, a flame around the wick of thingness, whether the thing is a grass blade, or one cell of a grass blade, or the galaxy that contains the sun on whose tiny world the grass is growing.
However fallen, broken or tiny a creature may seem, she floats in perfection, the sea of God.
Until now, we have perceived the forms and objects of this world as foreground, and their mere Being as background. But in this age we shift to a new way of seeing, where the creature is background and Consciousness itself, the uncreated sparkle of pure Existence, is foreground.
Earth, stars, stones and dandelions are suspended in Beauty, ever dissolving and re-appearing as the evidence of divine love. But the Beauty that contains these fleeting shapes of creation remains an eternal continuum of luminous Existence, more solid than matter, more real than the object.
Why not dwell in perpetual astonishment, since merely to Be is a miracle? This is an impeccably logical argument.
Why not bow down to every cricket, every mote of dust, not because it is a cricket or a mote of dust, but because it IS?
If you don't understand this, I'm sorry. I can't explain it. Why don't you just walk barefoot in the wet grass at midnight, and listen to the stars?