I imagine a world where my mind is mute. Not mute in a way that says that my mind has been depraved to think, but mute because I have no questions. But why this obsession with questions? Now questions are conjured because we lack some form of knowledge, we lack some form of understanding to comprehend something, someone, a condition we face, and I could go on and on, but I think you know where I’m going with this. We ask questions because we don’t know the answers.
But what if the world we live in, has nothing in it that provides our minds and thoughts, our senses, our emotions and feelings, to sometimes come to a point of wonder? What if preconceived in us, are the answers to everything? What if we know so much that we don’t have to know nothing at all?
That’s how imagined my mind would be; mute. Just a solemn defining quietness. We wouldn’t need conversations because conversations are used to sometimes derive some form of information. We have conversations to know the other person, or to know something about the other person or just about something or someone. But if the world we live in does not inhabit a sense of wonder in us, a sense of mystery for us to continually discover, we will lose the ability for questions, for communication, for beauty, for sorrow, for pain and all the things mortal humans grapple with or adore.
If there was no mystery, there would be no questions. If there was no questions there would be no wonder. If there was no wonder, then only a deafening silence would prevail. And with that, our thought would all be mute.
So the point of being human is to know that we are finite, mortals. We live to discover, and interpret meaning in a world that beckons us to grapple it in a vast mystery.
It’s funny that I thought about this when I wrote out a comment on a friend’s Facebook status.