Frequently, I write about questions. For me, they best express not only my awe of life but also when I am least enamored.
In other words, a question sparks my curiosity, like a match. It explodes into the light of beginning.
A question takes me into my own energy, the reality that is my now. For me, questions are eternal–they return–unlike answers that are ephemeral at best.
Yet, I know I cannot cling to my questions any more than I can avoid what they reveal to me. Not if I want to immerse myself in every moment that is my life.
In Zen, we don’t find the answers; we lose the questions.
It’s impossible to comprehend the marvel of what we are,
or to understand the mystery of life’s impeccable genius.
Weed out the confusion that comes from trying to understand.
(Mary Maezen Miller, Paradise in Plain Sight)
Now, best I get to weeding my plot of paradise.