I’m not sure I want to ever be certain about anything in this world, and I’m not certain that I want to ever be sure about the things I think I know. It hinders the mystery of trying to find out, builds a blockade in front of the threshold to greatness and eliminates our expansive thought process into a simple sentence: I know.
This is especially dangerous if you add: how this works.
Nonduum amabam, et amare amabam, qaeurebam quid amarem amans amare. — St. Augustine
Not yet did I love, though I loved to love, seeking what I might love, loving to love.
Of course, there are things that I believe in that exist outside of this world; certain truths that I hold to be self-evident, like the elusive power of God or the Holy Spirit working within, somehow consuming yet entirely untouchable to my flesh. It just kind of works as an agent of change that empowers my thoughts and alters my actions. In a word, it opens. Doors, mouths, eyes, ears, minds, hearts.
Much more so, than knowing. Because if you knew where you were going, you wouldn’t open the door for the emergency exit. You wouldn’t open your mouth to ask a question, let alone directions. You wouldn’t open your eyes if you could see the future. You wouldn’t open your ears if you had listened to every story. You wouldn’t open your mind if you had mastered every trade and you certainly wouldn’t open your heart if it was already filled to contentment.
Yet we do it all the time, pretending that we know all of these things; so sure of our abilities to walk on our own and talk with the wisdom of past experiences, perhaps at the expense of listening to others share their tales. But those things are not welcoming, they’re byproducts of not knowing how to love, and they close to door to any real connectedness. They are preservatives that dull any incentive to dig deeper and stall any motivation to pursue what we do not understand. It gives us the false notion that we are already whole, not needing or wanting of anything else. We are terribly forgetful of our own shortcomings, of which the most devastating is our tendency to overlook the contagion of happiness: it is meant to spill over.
We open things to verify change as it happens to us, and as we make it happen. Are we still fresh? Or have we spoiled? Best to inhale. It’ll keep your spirit churning.