We know the sky is blue because someone long ago taught us that it was. We know through intellect.

We know a warm bath is soothing because we’ve experienced it. We know experientially.

And I know I’m supposed to move because, well, it’s a knowing, you know?

Seeing the Northern Lights – the magnificent aurora borealis – has been on my bucket list for fifteen years. When I first moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I obsessively watched for alerts of high visibility. On the nights probability was high, I’d pack a bag, sleep with my clothes on, and when the alert came through my phone indicating visibility within the next 30 minutes, I raced out the door to catch the ever-elusive showstopping light show in the sky. Like a bonafide tornado chaser, I’d hop in the car in search of dark skies far from the reach of city light pollution.

I was unsuccessful in each of my attempts. Despite studying needed conditions and immersion in the world of aurora chasers, the brilliant lights eluded me.

Until one cold day in March, sometime early in the day, I saw a casual mention on Facebook that lights would likely be seen that night. At that moment, I KNEW I would see them.

It wasn’t from my mind – I didn’t know from a place of intellect. It came from my core – my center – and carried a lighthearted energy. Unlike the other days I tried to see them, there wasn’t an ounce of needing it to happen because I knew it would happen. It almost felt unimportant – that’s how little charge there was in the knowing. It was understated compared to strife and calmer than hope.

That night, I left the house in the 9 p.m. hour and drove about an hour out of Marquette to a place along the Lake Superior shoreline. I pulled into a long string of cars with people eagerly waiting to glimpse the dancing lights. I sat in the car for a while to avoid becoming too cold in the frosty sea winds. It was unbelievable how quickly my hands would become immovable in those conditions, and I couldn’t operate the camera with gloves on.

At some point early in the 11 o’clock hour, I noticed people beginning to get out of their cars, so I did as well. And within minutes, the show started. I began snapping photos, all of which were blurry because the wind was of a grand scale that night. So I got back into my car, put my camera flush against my window, and snagged my one clear photo of that pretty magical night.

I just knew.

Knowingness is starting to become my new favorite thing. It requires no reasoning; it doesn’t matter if others agree, and it’s almost hard to put words to. It’s undeniable when we experience it.

I can see a time in the future when my thoughts become fewer and further between, where my mind serves the knowingness in a relationship of proper proportion. 

Until then, see you tomorrow.