Not knowing

Absent our incessant, inner monologue, what is there?

Just this.

Not quite.
I don’t know.


Truth is, we simply don’t know: it’s beyond the ken of our mortal understanding.

Personally, I’m always drawn to the Eastern traditions but then again, you don’t need to inbibe any orthodoxy to simply sit, breathe and be.

Of course, we’ve all heard this — or a variety thereof. But somehow (and I’m guessing now) it doesn’t feel enough.


The deeply mysterious.

And that’s because (and I don’t think it conjecture) our method of learning is focused on knowing and not on the mysterious. I mean, save perhaps in the rarified creative space – e.g. dance or any free art — we expect, always, to come up with a bright, shiny solution.

Yes, but look where that’s got us. Not very far. I mean, industrialisation was supposed to make our lives better — in so many ways.

Has it?

In part, but the price has been very high, not least in our flight from anything less than material.

Right now, I’m back where I started; namely, not knowing. The perfect metaphor for me is the open hand, as opposed to the closed fist. Yes, it’s a little small-b Buddhist but it feels right.


Are you willing to let go of all your preconditioned notions of life, love and death and to be…without anything more?

I am.