There is a kind of knowing that the mind cannot produce.
It arrives in the quieter moments — when the noise of the day has settled, when the press of obligation has lifted slightly, when there is enough stillness to hear something underneath.
In those moments, something becomes clear.
Not as a thought. As a recognition.
All my fountains are in God.
This is not a theological position. It is an experience. The self that strives and manages and plans is not the source of anything. It borrows from something deeper. It runs on something it did not generate and cannot sustain by its own effort.
In him we live and move and have our being.
Acts 17:28
Not metaphorically. Ontologically. The life you are living is not yours in the way you think it is. It is flowing through you from a source that does not run dry.
This is easy to forget in the ordinary hours.
The press of the day returns. The noise reasserts itself. The illusion of self-sufficiency quietly reconstitutes. You begin again to operate as though you are the source — generating, managing, efforting your way forward.
And then another lucid moment arrives.
And the knowing returns.
All my fountains are in God. There is no other love. No other life. No other purpose. No other truth but this.