Some mysteries cannot be solved – they only can be lived.
We want so much to know, to understand, to solve, to sort out. Our brains want this and our egos want this. It’s part of our instinct for survival and progress and consciousness. But what if at times there is only our existence that matters, and our kindness, love, and pleasure in that existence – our care for others, our adventures, passions, hopes and dreams, and our despair and even hopelessness? What if all that really matters is a sweet gesture, a powerful dream, an insight, a poem that no one ever reads? Some people’s lives may be marked by a great mausoleum – others an unmarked grave. What’s the difference? It’s how you live that matters, not what you leave behind.