“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” – T.S. Eliot
Why does our inquiring mind want to know anything, or anyone, or ourselves?
Maybe it’s a me thing.
Maybe it’s a now thing, something everyone wants to understand better?
I see it as a more narrowly focused my generation thing. In other words, this stage of life thing.
Why is it we search more for meaning? Do I understand myself as fully as I might, as I should, as I could? Do you understand you?
When we doubt our belief system, where do look for understanding?
When answers aren’t found in books, searchable on Google, or blaring loud from recent experiences of drama, joy or horror, where can we look?
We look inside ourselves, or try to.
We are wandering, inhabiting, this damp dark haunted house without a flashlight, nervous and anxious, excited and fearful – in hopes of understanding ourselves better. I’ve come to realize I do that, in part, by spelunking in other people’s heads, wondering what they think and why, what they believe and why.
I don’t know if we see meaning as much as we do understanding – explanation of what is, why is, who is and where is – matters, like we are a rope needing to be tied to something solid and secure. Not frayed … and not afraid.
Will we be satisfied with any answer, or are we only satisfied when we end our searching?
This does …
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: 1C/33F, clear and calm – stars fading to twilight, so few leaves left on trees, seems like ‘the summer-extension’ is gone. Gusta pawing leaves in the dark to find morsels is hilarious …
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