tonight, in the midst of a miniature existential crisis, when I couldn’t seem to orient myself one way or another, essentially having a sort of cosmic internal tantrum—I tried to meditate and got only more confusion, no clarity; I cried a little, and felt immediately the discord of it, knowing crying from frustration is different than the release of grief and doesn’t feel good; so I read and listened to some things, still got little to no clarity, only more questions. Then, more flabbergasted than when I began, I suddenly found myself with a renewed sense of humor and perspective, and I just fully, playfully inhabited that childish moment, with a defiant stamp of my fist into the bed and an “answer me dammit!” called out at all the sources of infinite intelligence that be.
Then took a breath and cleared my mind enough to move along and decide what to do next with myself—only then “the answer” enters my mind easily: “all the answers are born within before you’re even aware you have a question. The question forming, coming into being, is nothing more or less than the evidence of the answer you’ve already been given. It *is* the answer, turned in upon itself.”
Well, it’s an answer, I guess. Thanks, universe.
(Why do I feel like I’m right back where I started?)
03.11.21 that’s some profound shit
Published
Muser's log: Stardate Indefinite 
Sounds like an Abraham type answer to me! The kind that makes you scratch and wonder if knowing something actually makes it any easier? Welp!
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wondering if knowing something actually makes it any easier– yes, what a good point. I think my tendency to wrestle with certain questions are a misguided attempt to try to make my life easier, more manageable. To gain a sense of control over something that cannot possibly serve me with an illusion of my own control, or distortions created as I attempt to pin it down or define it.
The novel I’m writing one of my thesis chapters on has a substantial focus on the goodness and benefit of unknowing, of ignorance. One of the two main religions in the story, the Handdara, is based on groups of foretellers:
“But we in the Handdara don’t want answers. It’s hard to avoid them, but we try to. . . we come here to the Fastness mostly to learn what questions not to ask.”
“But you’re the Answerers!”
“You don’t see yet . . . why we perfected and practice Foretelling?”
“No—”
“To exhibit the perfect uselessness of knowing the answer to the wrong question. . . The unknown . . . the unforetold, the unproven, that is what life is based upon. Ignorance is the ground of thought. Unproof is the ground of action. … There’s really only one question that can be answered [will we die?] … and we already know the answer …. The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next.”
Of course, the other religion in the novel is based in light and absolute knowing (symbolized by milk flowing from the breast), and it formed as an offspring of the Handdara foretelling. So both the unknowing and the knowing exist as quantum counterparts. We can’t have one without the other, and one inevitably, eternally, gives way to the other. Humans are born to milk it. 🙂
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