Here's my odd take:
Not knowing what will happen feels like a relief to me. I wasn't always like this. I used to think I had to keep worrying about uncertain things, as if staying mentally on alert were necessary. That constant alarm mode was something I had learned.
When I drop the worrying, I actually function better. The imagined scenarios were a burden, not a help. It brings to mind my grandmother's old advice about not worrying over unlaid eggs.
There's also a kind of curiosity that comes with this, a sense of wonder about life itself, including its ups and downs. This not knowing gives me strength.
In Zen terms, confusion and awakening don't stand apart for me - they seem to show up right inside each other.
Seen this way, wandering in the fog doesn't feel like a problem. It feels like part of the path.
For me, accepting not knowing isn't an extra practice. It's a letting go, and that letting go supports me.
Gasshō,
Patrick
sat and lah
Not knowing what will happen feels like a relief to me. I wasn't always like this. I used to think I had to keep worrying about uncertain things, as if staying mentally on alert were necessary. That constant alarm mode was something I had learned.
When I drop the worrying, I actually function better. The imagined scenarios were a burden, not a help. It brings to mind my grandmother's old advice about not worrying over unlaid eggs.
There's also a kind of curiosity that comes with this, a sense of wonder about life itself, including its ups and downs. This not knowing gives me strength.
In Zen terms, confusion and awakening don't stand apart for me - they seem to show up right inside each other.
Seen this way, wandering in the fog doesn't feel like a problem. It feels like part of the path.
For me, accepting not knowing isn't an extra practice. It's a letting go, and that letting go supports me.

Gasshō,
Patrick
sat and lah
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