Deeper Questions

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“I cannot be awake for nothing looks to me as it did before,
Or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.”

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

Question, quest: to seek, ask.

The quest is born of fire.
But the sleeping body asks no burning questions.

We search for understanding.  Many thoughtful comparisons present themselves, and for the sincere thinker the weighty questions cannot be avoided. Details from diverse fields call attention to the need for grand synthesis. We seek because the motivational force is beautiful.  Each facet of the mosaic of life comes to embody a transcendent reflection of startling beauty. So the hard surface of things leads inward toward the profound luminous world of the soul.

“To know Rather consists in opening a way
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape”

—Robert Browning

If something is merely pretty to us, it means we are yet on the surface of it. When it becomes beautiful–then is the shock of transformation. When our fires burn dimly, the perceived surface sparks only ephemeral curiosity, and the true colors are invisible to our sleep eyes. If the fire of beauty is not yet kindled in us, it means we’ve fallen into sleepwalking. So at each stage we must counteract somnambulism. Let us sense the evolution of knowledge as a limitless ocean of beautiful possibilities.

Search, Question, Quest, Find, Speak

“Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates,
ever provoking questions,

These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are
they?

Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight
expands my blood?…

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious
thoughts descend upon me?…

What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by
and pause?

What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? What
gives them to be free to mine?”

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

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