Little One's Joy

When we think deeply about even the smallest things—say, giving our undivided attention to a blade of grass before our eyes—it gradually becomes mysterious, wonderful, and if we wish, we can find answers to many of life's questions within it.

Those who have been through this experience know that great joys can be found quite easily in life's small accompaniments. The more I see, the more I want to see; the more time I spend, the more I want to spend. This giving of time, this discovery of beauty, this wandering through the lanes and byways of one's own heart—all of this is essentially living with oneself, for oneself. That's why this work is always joyful.

When peeling an onion, removing each layer one by one, we see that each layer seems more beautiful than the one before. But if we want to discover this beauty, we must first peel away that initial layer. It's the same with the mind. The door of the mind must be opened. The work of opening must be started by oneself. Once started, the rest happens naturally.

I love seeing the world this way, unburdened. There are other ways of seeing, but this is how I see. Rather than bringing many things to mind all at once, diving into very small things is easier and more comfortable. Can life be seen and understood as closely from very complex or difficult or grandiose things as it can from utterly simple events or rituals? Some people might be able to do that, but I cannot. When seeking to uncover life's deepest meaning, its hidden mysteries, simple words, simple beauty, simple associations help tremendously.

I know that even if I wanted to, I couldn't know and understand everything. I also know there's no need for that in order to be happy. Most of what surrounds me is unfamiliar to me. When I look, it seems I know them; the next moment I wonder—do I really know them, or do I just assume I know them? Rather than getting lost in such thoughts, I prefer to think that I don't know them. This thought leads me down paths where I've never walked, where walking makes me want to know the unknown, where traveling allows me to dwell quietly with my own soul under the pretense of conversing with the world.

I want to know that I know nothing.
I want to understand that I understand nothing.
I love to live not in assumption, but in contemplation.