The term "canary yellow" has always confused me greatly, for in my mind a canary is a white bird. But I have been wrong before. While not often it has happened before. No one ever seems to want to admit that they are wrong, I surely do not even though I like to think of myself as being open minded. Each day I attempt to keep my mind open with my thought tentacles outstretched and ready for new experiences and ideas, and on some days I even find them. However, one of the biggest questions I have tried to tackle, a true conundrum, is the question if one can truly have an open mind. I enjoy engaging the thoughts and ideas of others, but at the end of the day I wonder if I only accept those that subconsciously are aligned with my own beliefs and virtues, or can my opinion, down to my core, can change.
I do not know the answer, but I have slowly been learned that there is not always an satisfactory answer to every question that crosses the battlefield of my mind. Whether for better or for worse, I am learning to accept the fact that I can not and will not be able to understand everything, that no one can, and that is not only something I should deal with but it something I should cherish. A world without mystery would seem to me to be a mundane place to spend the rest of my days. If one always knows what is around the next corner, why would he bother to walk around it? Perhaps from uncertainty we derive the fuel for life's motivation -- the need for discovery pushes us forward day to day. Mystery is a good thing. While knowledge indulges the mind as sex does the physical body, everything must be kept in moderation.
I would like to believe that I think that there is a limit to my understanding of the world around me, but I know not if my mind is open enough to allow myself to surrender my ability of total comprehension without suffering from the anxiety of questioning.
But one can not know the answer to that question until he is lying on his death bed. Maybe that is when all questions are answered -- at the last moment on Earth. At the damned last moment on Earth it becomes clear. Or maybe not.
I do not know the answer, but I have slowly been learned that there is not always an satisfactory answer to every question that crosses the battlefield of my mind. Whether for better or for worse, I am learning to accept the fact that I can not and will not be able to understand everything, that no one can, and that is not only something I should deal with but it something I should cherish. A world without mystery would seem to me to be a mundane place to spend the rest of my days. If one always knows what is around the next corner, why would he bother to walk around it? Perhaps from uncertainty we derive the fuel for life's motivation -- the need for discovery pushes us forward day to day. Mystery is a good thing. While knowledge indulges the mind as sex does the physical body, everything must be kept in moderation.
I would like to believe that I think that there is a limit to my understanding of the world around me, but I know not if my mind is open enough to allow myself to surrender my ability of total comprehension without suffering from the anxiety of questioning.
But one can not know the answer to that question until he is lying on his death bed. Maybe that is when all questions are answered -- at the last moment on Earth. At the damned last moment on Earth it becomes clear. Or maybe not.
