Creative Nothingness—My Faith, the Higgs Boson, and My Garden in Eternity
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
2 For by it the elders obtained a good report.
3 Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.
I needed substantiation of the Higgs Boson to trust in its existence.
Faith is comparable to that.
Creation from void and without form.
Faith is the substance and the evidence of our dreams.
It requires evidence and proof.
This is the failed understanding of faith and the spiritual walk. Many believe that faith is blind and requires no verification or factual support.
In the spiritual Life, faith necessitates proof.
Faith must corroborate itself if it is exercised correctly.
Concerning the Higgs Boson, a small amount of substance fashioned and wrought from nothing.
I suppose it is in the meaning of small where the consequence is incomprehensible.
An insignificant amount of uranium 235, unleashed in a fission reaction, makes us reassess our idea of small, and the power the elemental substances around us are capable of yielding.
I lost everything I had in 2010—I have nothing left of my past life.
I miss what I had when my life was under the bright sun. Not many men have the chance to hold such a valuable spirit as I once held in my life.
Today, in the nothingness of my existence, every day I must create the materials that I need to live.
In the wood and brush of the garden, I fashion my particle collider. The earth captures the Boson and from nothing a spark makes all things live.
In the ferocious light and organic soil, cultivation takes place.
In Arimathaea—the living garden that sits at the heart of my soul—I see her, the breeze from the lake moving her hair and giving tranquility to her eyes.
She passes her vision over me, as if seeing me for the first time, yet with an ancient familiarity that consoles me.
At last, she reaches out and touches me, her embrace healing my hurt.
In the summer brightness, she stands before the weeping cherry and I feel close to her. When she calls to me, I am eager to respond.
I call back to her, but she’s not able to answer my entreaties.
Then, without even a whisper, she’s gone.
I stand alone in the garden, with only a memory of the exquisiteness that once was.
I esteemed her loveliness.
It’s been six years since she left me and I still seek the refinement and elegance she embodied. A life untouched by mortality or illness, hers was a feminine energy adorned with delight, happiness, and harmony.
I will not rest until my inspiration becomes truth, until I can hold such beauty again.
Every night, for the past six years, the last thing I do, after I brush my teeth and wish Rene goodnight, is think about the radiance and glory that I lost, and how I will recover her.
After the torment and agony, I finally fall asleep.
Cut me and I’ll bleed. But no matter how savage and ruthless the cut, I have faith I won’t die.
Eventually the bleeding stops and I live.
Losing everything changed all that. The sorrow of losing such greatness cut me so profoundly that I haven’t stopped hemorrhaging.
Death comes for all—let it come for me some day.
It may get my body—but it will never extinguish my soul.
I will contest for every breath, as she did.
Ultimately, I will die as she did, but it is of no importance.
Death will never defeat such everlasting splendor.
I have faith that in Arimathaea I will see her again… and hold her forever.
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