I wrote the following after realizing that I haven't posted here for a while because I haven't felt like I have a lot of definite things to say. Then I wondered if writing about all the things I wonder about, and even the unclosed wonder I feel when I am in nature, had merit too, even if it didn't have a definitive "point." In this piece I explore this idea.
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| What if the journey was the point? (photo by RhinoMind, via Wikimedia Commons) |
A Declaration ?
When I sit down to write, I seek to write a declaration.
But what if all I have are questions, wondering, a quest?
I don't often have things to say that end in a satisfying period.
More often they end in a ?
What if, by writing, I sought to understand, rather than be understood?
What if I looked for questions and intriguing riddles, unconcerned for a moment about the answers?
What if I rejoiced in wonder? In raindrops and who cares why?
What if I allow myself to sit in mystery and revel in the unknown, to note areas with shades darkness, and be unflapped about not knowing all of it?
What if I threw up my arms in the air and cried, joyfully, "I have no idea!"?
What if I sought to open all the books I could, and thus open my mind, rather than seeking to close it (I get it now, and that is that)?
What if my quest didn't end at the end of a page, but rather launched from it?
