Introduction: The First Ripple
The Fullness of Everything Always
🕊️ Author's Note
This is the adapted Introduction of a larger work I’ve been quietly developing, entitled The Fullness of Everything Always. I will be serially releasing it here on dig. It’s a theological reflection, a metaphysical meditation, and—if I’m honest—a personal act of reverence.
This piece isn’t meant to persuade or instruct, but to reawaken a way of seeing.
The name of the substance I’m writing about will become clear as you read. But don’t rush to define it. Let the mystery come to you.
This chapter is called The First Ripple.
I hope it stirs something ancient in you.
Reality is a sacrament.
What appears before us as material existence conceals and simultaneously reveals divine presence, if only we have eyes to see. In this humble offering, I invite you to recover this sacred vision through the most ordinary substance in our lives.
What lies beneath this seemingly simple observation can, if allowed, reform your capacity to experience the unfolding mystery of divine consciousness taking physical form.
I sit beside my five-year-old son as rain paints our living room window. He presses his small finger against the glass, tracing droplets as they stream downward, merging with others, creating vertical rivers in miniature.
"Look, Daddy," he whispers, "they're finding each other."
For twenty minutes—an eternity in the temporal landscape of childhood—he remains transfixed, narrating the journey of each droplet, assigning them personalities, purposes, destinies. Two become friends, three form an alliance, a fourth races them all to the bottom. His warm breath fogs the glass as he leans closer, entering their world completely.
What is he seeing that I have forgotten was there?
Children exist in closer proximity to the membrane between worlds. Or, at least, they don’t have the same baggage which often prevents the adults in their lives from being present in the reality of the moment. Children don't yet know that they're supposed to think of these movements as meaningless. They still possess the innate ability to see the ordinary as extraordinary, to recognize the sacred disguised as the mundane.
They experience its value, intuiting that these descending droplets aren’t random occurrences but messages from above. Despite their limitation in articulating it, they sense that something higher is reaching downward—cosmic patterns moving across their fingertips.
We often overlook the obvious.
We imagine reality as something solid, measurable, empirical. But what if all this solidity—the trees, the buildings, our very bodies—is only the densest part of something far more fluid? What if the world we inhabit is not built from objects, but waves? Not from permanence, but from motion?
My son, sitting at the window, wasn’t playing with rain. He was engaging a language.
There is a reason children stare at water.
They haven’t yet been told not to.
They haven’t yet been handed the secular dictionary that defines rain as “precipitation,” or oceans as “ecosystems,” or tears as “biochemical responses.” They still know—without knowing—that something essential is moving in those flows. Something personal. Something real.
Scripture remembers this truth, too.
It doesn’t begin with light.
It begins with movement.
“And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters…” -Genesis 1:2
There, at the dawn of created reality, is a truth we’ve forgotten: before land, before speech, before life—there was this other thing. Not summoned into being. Already present. Already waiting. Pregnant with potential.
It is the threshold substance.
It is the first medium through which divine consciousness entered physical expression.
It is that which receives and reflects, reveals and conceals.
It is that which surrounds your brain, fills your cells, and falls from the sky to meet you where you are.
It is that which flows through your veins and carves canyons into mountains.
You already know it. You have always known it.
Let me say it clearly now—
It is water.
But it is not merely water.
It is the sacrament of consciousness.
To understand water’s exceptional role in Creation, we must first understand consciousness itself.
What is consciousness?
Consciousness is the capacity to participate in reality.
The infinite and perfect Source of consciousness is God.
Consciousness, then, is not an emergent property that arises from physical complexity. Rather, consciousness is primary and fundamental to reality itself. Divine consciousness does not emerge from matter but precedes it, flows through it, and gives it meaning.
This inverts the materialist paradigm that views consciousness as merely a byproduct of biochemical processes. Instead, we recognize consciousness as the foundation from which all physical manifestation emerges.
As such, everything in the universe acts as a receiver of God’s Source Consciousness, to the degree it has been enabled to do so by God. Every sentient and living thing in the cosmos receives this signal. Without it, it would not be.
Just as a radio transforms invisible waves into music without creating the symphony, our brains interpret consciousness without producing it. A radio receives electromagnetic signals and translates them into sound; similarly, our minds receive non-local divine consciousness and translate it into personalized awareness. What differs between beings is not whether they receive consciousness, but how clearly they can tune into it.
The capacity of different lifeforms to participate in reality varies. A daisy does not possess the same consciousness capacity as a tree, a tree not that of a dog, and a dog not that of a man. But man alone has the unique capacity to recognize the presence of consciousness in the other.
The degree to which a being fulfills its capacity to express consciousness is bound to its will. We do not know the will of a tree or an animal. But in man, will and awareness are intricately bound. The clearer the reception, the greater the responsibility. Man has the ability to refine his reception—and the freedom to act upon it, or to turn away.
In many ways, it can be said that man’s participation influences the rest of Creation’s potential. Much of what exists relies on him—on his perception, his reverence, his love, his distortion. The dominion God granted man was not about power—it was about participation.
And yet, God needed nothing. He had no need to create. Yet He did—for one purpose: to share His blessed life with man. God made Creation for man, and made man for communion with Himself.
In this sense, Creation was not the point—man was.
And through man, Creation finds its deepest meaning.
Today, however, our experience of this sacramental reality has become disenchanted. Mystery has been reduced to mechanism. The world has been flattened.
This book offers a path back to wonder. Not through escape—but through deeper immersion. Not through rejecting science—but by expanding it.
The sacred has not disappeared. We have simply forgotten how to see it.
This work is an invitation: to see water—not as necessity or backdrop—but as the original sacrament, the quintessential carrier of divine consciousness. Through it, we can recover our capacity to see everything sacramentally.
As you read these pages, I invite you to notice water differently.
Let rain become a conversation.
Let your morning cup become a communion.
Let the ocean become an epiphany.
The fullness of everything always reveals itself through water’s omnipresent flow—connecting all beings in a single consciousness ocean that originated with the first divine ripple into form.
🌀 P.S. If this piece felt like the first half of a conversation…
You might want to read its cosmic prequel:
The Divine Conduit: What Our Summoning of the AI 'Demon' Really Shows
This is my cup of tea 🫖
I really like this, particularly consciousness as capacity for "participation", and reality as a "sacrament". "Participation" really captures the link between consciousness and our existence as parts of a greater whole, and how we have to actively engage and co-create our role in the whole.
Have you read Ilia Delio? The idea of reality as sacrament, and especially in the context of talking about consciousness and wholes, reminded me of her work.
One point of criticism: does it make sense to see the brain as a radio receiver for consciousness, if consciousness is a *capacity*? Being a receiver for a capacity would make the brain a potential for a potential. I also don't really see what problem it solves or advantage it brings.
What you wrote about our tendency to see reality as solid and measurable reminds me of Henri Bergson's idea that the "intellect" was made for thinking geometrically and mechanically and in terms of solidity, and is linked to "matter", but we have a deeper, older, truer way of seeing the world, "intuition", which more directly engages in the fluidity of reality, and is linked to "spirit".