One day, I felt a question come to mind: “Where does spirit come from?”
My initial reaction was to ask, “Where the heck did that question come from?” But as I simmered down and let my reactive impulses find their resting places one by one, I realized that I was left without an answer to the original question. The only thing I could discover was that the question itself came from a very deep place. It was as if the question was leading me to a safe and spacious domain which is unchiseled by the sharpness and bluntness of human language.
I must have contemplated the question for months. It made no sense to me. Isn’t spirit, by definition, the essence of things? How can it have an origin? I grappled with many possible answers, but none of them seemed to hit the mark.
The good news is that a satisfying answer finally did come. But the bad news is that the answer was just as unexpected and enigmatic as the original question. The answer was: “Spirit is born of change.” I could feel the endless truth and harmony between the question and answer, but I felt powerless to articulate this relationship.
At least there’s comfort in knowing there’s no law against trying. My theories about the meaning behind this sort of question seem to come and go of their free will. Maybe the question of the origin of spirit is the root matrix of all questions and answers. Every conceivable question seeks to look behind a veil or curtain to reveal the inner meaning or hidden essence of something. You can split the so-called atom (which literally means “cannot be cut”) a thousand times, but there’s always a way to ask whether the particles can be analyzed for even subtler and more essential constituents.
So I don’t have a comprehensive explanation for all of this. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe the real value of contemplating these questions is in flirting with deeper regions of your own spirit. This way, the game can go on forever, because there is always more to discover and enjoy as time turns the question like a wheel – or a flower, depending on the game you believe you’re playing.
The best questions like to play, beckon, and invite. They open up the spaces of potentiality which are so necessary for life to grow. Answer the questions if you like, but notice how your answers echo and fade. Every echo dissolves into the key of silent laughter before being swallowed by the universal hum.
Contemplate a good question, and the joy of it comes from seeing how your life is a story written by two instead of one.