Present.

The Divine Instrument: A Gift We Have

We often look outward in search of miracles.

In temples of stone.

In towering mountains.

In distant galaxies.

Yet the greatest miracle is the one we inhabit.

This human body — so familiar that we forget to be astonished — is a divine instrument placed in our care.

It breathes without instruction.

It heals without rehearsal.

It grows from a single unseen cell into a being capable of love, sacrifice, thought, and devotion.

No craftsman assembles it piece by piece.

No engineer tightens its bolts.

It unfolds according to a wisdom embedded within it.

Ancient seers did not see the body as an accident of matter. They called it a sacred vehicle — a field in which experience, learning, karma, and awakening unfold.

The hands that serve.

The tongue that chants.

The ears that listen to wisdom.

The eyes that weep in compassion.

The heart that feels reverence.

Each faculty is part of an orchestra.

When tuned properly, this instrument produces harmony.

When neglected, it produces discord.

But the instrument itself remains a gift.

We may decorate it.

We may criticize it.

We may take it for granted.

Yet without it, there is no action, no service, no prayer, no offering.

Even the highest spiritual realization must first pass through this embodied existence.

The body is not merely flesh and bone.

It is intelligence beyond thought.

It is awareness housed in matter.

It is life entrusted to us.

We did not design it.

We cannot manufacture it.

We cannot fully comprehend it.

And yet we are allowed to inhabit it.

What greater gift could there be?

Perhaps the true question is not, “How powerful is this body?”

But, “How wisely am I using this instrument?”

If it is divine in origin, then its purpose cannot be trivial.

May these hands do good.

May this speech uplift.

May this mind seek clarity.

May this heart remain soft.

For this body is not owned.

It is given.

A divine instrument — briefly placed in our keeping — through which life sings its sacred song.

Present

This body is the present.

Not the past we remember.

Not the future we imagine.

But the living, breathing now.

Each heartbeat is a reminder.

Each breath is a gift unasked yet freely given.

We did not request this form.

We did not design its workings.

And yet here it is — placed in our hands like a sacred offering.

The body anchors us to the present moment.

It feels hunger, joy, fatigue, warmth, pain, tenderness.

It refuses to live in yesterday or tomorrow.

Through it, we touch the world.

Through it, we speak kindness.

Through it, we bow in gratitude.

What greater present could there be than this —

a divine instrument entrusted to us for a brief span of time?

To live consciously in it

is to honor the gift.

To use it wisely

is to return thanks.

And perhaps that is the deepest reverence —

not merely admiring the miracle,

but living responsibly within it.