Chamber Three - The Hall Of Rewonder

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I have a slightly unusual invitation for you.

For a little while…

could you stop trying to figure everything out?

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I know.

That is an outrageous suggestion. 

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We have become rather attached to knowing.

Knowing who we are.

Knowing why things happened.

Knowing what other people mean.

Knowing what tomorrow will bring.

Knowing what we should do next.

And when we don't know, the mind often gets busy filling in the blanks.

Preferably with material from yesterday.

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It means well.

It really does.

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The mind learned that prediction can create a sense of safety.

If I know what is coming, perhaps I won't be surprised.

If I understand everyone, perhaps nobody can hurt me.

If I understand myself completely,

perhaps I can finally control this strange adventure called being human.

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But there is a price.

When everything has already been decided by what happened before…

there isn't much room left for something new.

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And I wonder whether you are tired of living inside conclusions.

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Perhaps you don't need another answer.

Perhaps you need a question.

Not a clever question.

Not a spiritual question.

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Just two wonderfully ordinary words:

I wonder…

I wonder what happens if I don't know yet.

I wonder whether this feeling has something to tell me.

I wonder whether this person is touching an old story in me.

I wonder what this frightened part of me actually needs.

I wonder whether the future is allowed to surprise me.

I wonder who I might be without constantly consulting yesterday.

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And please…

don't rush to answer.

That would rather defeat the purpose.

Stay with the question.

Let it breathe.

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Because I wonder isn't really looking for an immediate answer.

It is opening a window.

And perhaps there is someone inside you who remembers that window very well.

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A younger you.

Not only the wounded child we so often talk about.

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I mean the other one.

The explorer.

The inventor.

The mud-puddle specialist.

The philosopher who once asked seventeen questions before breakfast.

The little human who didn't need to know what clouds were made of

before lying on the grass and finding dragons in them.

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That child hasn't disappeared.

Curiosity rarely disappears.

It gets covered.

By caution.

Experience.

Disappointment.

Responsibility.

Fear.

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And all those terribly sensible adult conclusions about how life works.

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So perhaps Rewonder isn't about learning curiosity.

Perhaps it is about giving curiosity permission to return.

And I think it needs a companion.

Love.

Because curiosity without safety can feel dangerous.

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But when Love sits beside Curiosity, something changes.

Love says:

´´You don't have to know. I'm staying.´´

And Curiosity whispers:

´´Then maybe we can explore.´´

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I love that combination.

One does not push.

The other does not pull.

Love holds.

Curiosity opens.

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And somewhere between them, possibility returns.

So the next time your mind tells you exactly what is going to happen…

don't fight it.

Don't shame it.

Don't replace its frightening prediction with a prettier prediction.

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Just smile gently at that hardworking little fortune-teller in your head…

and ask:

´´I wonder if there is something I cannot see yet?´´

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That is enough.

You don't need certainty to take the next step.

Sometimes you only need enough safety…

to remain curious.

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And perhaps Peaceful Presence was never asking you to know everything anyway.

Perhaps it has always been quietly inviting you to experience.

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To discover.

To meet.

To create.

To love.

To wonder.

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So, dear friend…

welcome to the Hall of Rewonder.

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You may leave your conclusions by the door.

You can always pick them up again on your way out.

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Although…

I wonder if you'll still need all of them.

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Peace to you.

Presence to you.

And above all…

keep wondering.