My whole life has been about The Mystery. The mystery of God. The mystery of life. And this whole mystery thing has meant two things to me: the unknown and being wrong.
The unknown feels like a bottomless chasm. It only feels bottomless. But, in fact, when it’s time for The Mystery to be resolved, I land at the bottom. Hard. Absolute. The Truth Revealed.
But in the meantime, between knowing that there is some knowing looming in my future and the actual knowing, there is only the sensation of falling—without support, without a net, without any sense of where I am going.
It can also feel, I have found, as though I am completely covered in biting ants. Here! Here! Here! Having to be aware of every inch of my skin—being invaded, chewed at. And for what end?
Understanding. Ah, that treasure that so many build spiritual altars to.
But does understanding, in the end, ever accomplish anything real?
And there’s the quality, the absolute magic of learning, in the end, that I have been wrong.
The whole time.
My assumptions had, naturally, followed a logical course. A normal way of reasoning whatever it is out.
But, after everything, what I find is a black and white rose atop a pile of wasabi peas.
Not a hand stretched out.
Or a righting of a wrong.
But something completely new.
A brand-new discovery.
That changes the shape of my life completely.