It is from Unknowing that all the myths, and, one may say, all religions issue forth and reveal themselves. Not invented but, as it were, summoned.
It is back into unknowing that the mind-stuff of all the burnt libraries of the world repair. Never a page left to turn, but what the spirit of man has once conceived it can conceive again. All that is lost is somewhere.
Destroy the world, you men of the atoms, and Unknowing will retain the pattern. “Trust that which belongs to the universe itself,” says the Tao, “From that there will be no escape.”
Unknowing, if one can be open and vulnerable, will take us down to the very deeps of knowing, not informing the mind but coursing through the whole body, artery and vein–provided one can thrust aside what the world calls common sense, that popular lumpen wisdom that prevents the emerging of the numinous.
Unknowing needs that a man be in a certain state of grace, playful, artless, inwardly aquitted of opinion, not at all as children are but rather as fools or saints.
We cannot wipe the mind clean of its knowing, as one would wash a face, for, indeed, paradoxically, we need that knowing. It is an essential part of living and not to be despised. Only when the mind attempts to usurp the whole realm of consciousness, of which, after all, it is but a fragment, are the possibilities of discovering Unknowing overlaid and lost. ~Pamela Travers
and can you move slyly from your values steeped in certainty to the slippery slope of undoing, where nothing is clear nor certain?
inquiry for today~ what is it like to be on the edge of your own abyss? one of freefalling into all that you do not know?
There is a desert
I long to be walking,
a wide emptiness:
Peace beyond any
understanding of it.