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I am at the moment having a delightful time reading  The Wind In The Willows by Kenneth Graham. Some will say it is a children’s book, and by some criteria it is, but at this moment it is an old (89) man’s book, but young or old, it is its own age in its own world. But all our moments are like that. Pick a moment, any moment. At that moment the clock on the wall will mark a certain time, our planet will be in a certain relationship to the sun which is in the universe which may (we do not know) be but one of an infinite number of universes, and that is where we are.  

My universe at the moment is shared by three: (1) Graham, (2) Streed, and (3) Einstein. I wonder if all universes are like that. (1) Created by a creator, (2) the focus of a (limited, me, not you) mind, and (3) existing as an equation. 

In a way, in all ways, actually, the thought is not encouraging to our pride and vanity. We have no idea what the Creator is like, no idea what a mind is like, and—most of us—no idea what the equation means. But that is where we are, each in our own little universe, blown about by “the wind that bloweth where it listeth”.