Searching for what I know not
The invisible, senseless, shapeless something
Grabbing on to nothingness of what’s there
Where? Here? Not now, not yet, not ever…
What do we search for? Meaning, fulfilment, purpose, love, joy, happiness? Moving towards having our needs met, things, adventures and people that make our lives full and our hearts singing, feeling useful and present in life, noticed, heard and seen. What do we want? We want to live and not fade into nothingness, that scary uncertain place no one wants to talk about, but let’s. It is not nothingness or empty when a life lived fully can be felt in our blood and expressed even in our last breath. Dying well, dying knowing and conscious holding on to love and vision to the last moment. Preparing to travel to places unseen and unknown.
Searching is a natural element of life, like a flowing river always on the run not knowing where it will end or will settle, but it does, I am sure it does and perhaps, then the flow begins again? Like trees stripped of their foliage every year come back to blooming again at some point. Trust, faith in growth and movement of life protects and comforts and it is jumping on board of the train seemingly running away into nothingness or river flowing into place unknown, it is that jumping into life that will carry us through and will lead us to whatever we are searching for. It is a journey of searching, questioning, which contains periods of peace and settled feeling, contentment, slowing down, picking up pace again. It is in the mixture and variety, colour and moments of dull despair and the darkest night there is life itself, which is the meaning of it all. Life is the meaning of life.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
—Mary Oliver
