I find myself reading, looking for something to think –
looking for visionaries with visions to adhere to.
I see the attraction of being a ditto-head, but I’m looking for a manifesto in the other direction.
How tempting it would be to say, “I believe this,” and wrap myself in an ideology. No questions.
Only, I have no one’s thoughts to think. There is no manifesto.
I’ve been looking, and everything is suspect. Every credo leaves me feeling hollow, asking, how do you know? Who says? What proof is there?
I can remember being in junior high, believing I was going to be a different person in the future, a new and improved person.
Sometimes my transformation was connected to some article of clothing.
When I had a camel hair coat I would be different.
In my mind’s eye, I’d see myself walking down the school corridors, with my hands in my pockets, suddenly made popular by my coat.
How tempting it would be to be consumed by consumption, by TV, the car I drive, the brand of shoes on my feet.
But I have lost my childish faith. Now, what can I believe?
I believe in asking for truth, and aching for answers.
I believe that no question is off-limits and that science is a way of knowing in pieces.
I believe in testing and retesting. I believe you can test a tree, by tasting its fruits.
I believe in wondering about awe, and hope, and love, and wonder itself.
I believe in embracing mystery – and allowing enchantment.
I believe that our will and thoughts matter in an emergent universe.
I believe in inhaling deeply and wondering about the whole.
I believe in the words – I don’t know,