Sometimes I overwhelm myself with too many burning questions about life. I want to understand it all. Now. The material, the psychological, the emotional, the sociological. All of it.
Da Vinci the Great did say, "The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding." And, I would normally whole-heartedly agree. But it struck me today, as I ran on the treadmill, that if there were no questions to ask in the world, where could one find any sense of wonder? Or experience that tantalizing, vast inner-intrigue when faced with the mysterious? In a hypothetical world (or mind) containing all the answers, there could be no curiosity, no adventure, no suspense; no fascination, no astonishment, no awe. So I asked myself, Why must I elude these effects of questioning -are they painful? mmm.. I pondered.. Not at all. In fact they can be pretty awesome! Pun intended.
What is beauty compared to formulas, definitions, and logical explanations of it?
Pretend this "Everything-Answered" mind were possible. Would there be an every thing to comprehend? What would be the exact number of things to know? 69 trillion, 24 thousand, and two? Seems improbable.
Consider the reality of a universe solely consisting of mental facts. I say, très ennuyeux.
It was then, with sweat dripping down my cranium, that I began to fall in love with the brilliant multi-facetted-ness of our existence. There are some questions that have simple answers, some that have (as long as there's people to argue) endless explanations, and some that dumbfound even the wisest -whose answers may never grace a mortal mind.
I'm fairly relieved to be convinced there is no ceiling to understanding. For if there were, the top would certainly be disappointing.
I feel now a bit more associative with Mr. Rilke, "Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers."
Answers can be ecstatic, but questions I wager, can be just as fulfilling. I feel there is much peace in this realization.