THE MYSTERY OF THINGS

Aussie and I started going up the hill yesterday, and she paused. Ahead was heavy mist, the light of the sun struggling to come through.

My life, too, feels like a fog right now. Not even what’s ahead, more like: What’s now? How does it feel? How do I feel? Going through motions. Swimming in fog.

Not-knowing is not fog. It’s clarity unobscured by fear, pretension, and the endless chasing of our tail through words. But fog is also about not knowing. When I drive through the mists at night I squint trying to make out the road. Walking in the fog is more restful. I don’t strain, I’m satisfied with the mystery of things.

Retreat starts tomorrow, celebrating the awakening of a man many years ago who went deeper into not-knowing than anyone, and called it enlightenment. I wish to follow in his footsteps and dedicate the merits of the retreat, whatever good effects it brings, to my husband Bernie.

The blog will be silent till Monday.