In appreciation of mystery

Planet Earth is an amazing place. I don't for a moment believe that it's the only place in the universe where life exists, but it is obviously an unusual celestial body 'round these parts. And I'll take it as it comes.

It comes in many flavors. More than enough to keep me busy sampling its buffet for the rest of my days. So many, in fact, that I shall never know them all. One reason I love travel so much is that I get to enjoy the first-hand experience of a place. In many respects, I come to know it -- by sight, taste, sound, smell, the weight or lightness of its air, the sponginess of its soil, the vibrating beat of its traffic or the soothing quietude of its bajareque.

But I've been giving a LOT of thought lately to those things which I *don't* know, can't explain and which still mystify me.

Consider the swifts that take a rest from their migration for a while every September at Chapman School here in Portland. Their coordination is stunning. A few years ago, when XGF took me out to see them for the first time, I was blown away. Against the backdrop of a fall sunset, these birds were dancing a ballet nature appears to have choreographed in a complex and seemingly random way.

I'm sure scietists have all sorts of explanations for what's going on there. Perhaps they have even discovered patterns in this wild, exuberant-appearing dance. But I don't really care what science has theorized about this behavior.

I like to stand there and enjoy the mystery of it. My personal mystery. My moment of awe.

We don't necessarily benefit from having so much of the world "explained" to us by science. Part of the fun of being human is enjoying mystery and wonder. Of not acting like we "know" the "facts" of the situation. (If anything, history shows that all knowledge is emerging, rather than fixed. "Science" has many times lead us astray in our beliefs about the world. I keep an interest in the why and how of things, but I never consider the answer "known.")

And, as with the swallows, there are some things I simply prefer to remain mysterious, to preserve how I experience their beauty and wonder, as if a form of art (because they are).

So there are parts of my life, parts of my existence, which I will not offer up for dissection in the public sphere. And there are parts of my life which I will chew up and reguriate from time to time like cud, eventually spitting out for the rest of you to regard. And there are parts of my life which come at you off-the-cuff, an in vivo experience, as much as the Internet will allow.

The following is a reflection on something I will not offer up to the public sphere.

Hmmm. Thanks, S2, for telling me several weeks ago about a "daydream" you had about Hawi. It was a seed. Or perhaps fertilizer.

And the following is a reflection of some cud I've been chewing:

Yes, consciousness may in fact be a process. But that's likely only part of the story. There is something that exists outside of our physical bodies. It may be as "simple" as that which gives the swifts direction in their eratic aerial aerobatics. But whatever it is, we are too constrained by our presence *within* the human experience to be able to describe -- or to debunk -- that which exists and drives us from *outside* the reality we are primarily designed to observe.

In short, we are more than the sum of our parts.

I believe this to the point of feeling like I *know* it.

But I'm also willing to let it be a mystery. I don't need an explanation. Any explanation, including whatever I dream up, would be a guess. Even my "knowing" is no more than a guess. But that is also the case with the opinions and perspectives of everyone else. We're all just guessing.

Nevertheless, I know we are more -- somehow -- than just our bodies.

The following is an in vivo commentary, meaning a little stream of consciousness:

Look, I realize it might seem ridiculous to say I know what I don't know, that I can't know what I do know and that the rest of you don't know what you think you know. I suspect that might be upsetting to some of you.

Others probably take such comments in stride, with a simple: "Of course, UCM. You are so behind the times. Everything has *always* been relative. There are no facts. You've known this all along. Why are you mentioning it now?"

To the first, I would say: Lighten up. There's a party barge waiting for you in the afterlife if only you will lighten up. (Thanks, Tom Robbins.)

To the second, I would reply: Well, yes, I've known this intellectually all along. But sometimes, life affords us opportunities to take what we know *intellectually* and make it what we know *profoundly.* Such an opportunity seems to have come my way in the past several weeks. For whatever reason, I was poised with an open heart and an open mind at the same time.

I have all sorts of little theories about how this occurred. Some people want to give astrology the credit. Others tell me to give the credit to myself. Still others would tell me to refer to my own previous reflections on cud-chewing.

This world, this unusual little earth ball upon which we tread, has enough mysteries to keep us pondering for a multitude of millenia, as we already have. Why should we think at this point that we have any answers? That we have "solved" anything? That a single cotton-picking piece of of "knowledge" can truly be "empirically validated" to the point that it becomes "the answer"?

In the end, aren't we all just "believers" in something? We may be at odds. We may have more "evidence" from one paradigm or another. We may be really freaking meta on a collection of philosophies or be fervent adherents of one style of "knowledge" or another. We may feel very certain of ourselves and our professional journals. We may even say we like all 31 flavors.

But in the end, we're the same, you and I. Whether we believe in something specific or nothing at all, the "truth" will always elude us -- either because we are too limited in our comprehension or because there is no truth. There's no telling which is the case.

We are a speck in this vast universe.

It puts us on equal footing. With *everything* else. There's no one-up or one-down in a universal sense.

And yet we can still enjoy ourselves.

How wonderful is that?