and I too was flooded

When I left my quite cave of warmth amid a rainy gray Jerusalem this morning, the stairwell of my building was flooded with light - the special effervescent kind that sometimes occurs within unexpected places in the daytime when its raining.
And I too was flooded - with the remembering of how much it matters.

It matters.
All of it.
All of this that we do, all the small things.
It matters that we do them with intention, with loving awareness.
And the big things, too.
It's ok when we don't. Because we're tired or distracted or doubtful or it seems the world just won't stop burning or we're worried and everyone is screaming stories of the fast train to destruction.
It's ok when we don't, but it very much matters that we do.
For reasons we may not be able to comprehend.
Because I do feel in a deep deep place that there's a way in which our actions do not end.
And it matters that we do them with loving intent.
I matter.
You matter.
Our lives very much matter.
This pen. This music. This rain. These words. This body. This moment.
It matters.