Sometimes, I say I don’t really want answers. Instead, I want to be awash in wonder at what I see before me. I want the thrill of amazement, the exuberance of being bedazzled.
But, then, I realize I do want answers. I want to know what caused my wonder. I want to know why I was amazed, what triggered my bedazzlement. Curiosity can ruin it all. Curiosity, as vital and informative and educational as it can be, tends to demand answers which, in turn, crush the euphoria of amazement.
I see signs of bedazzlement-fatigue in myself. Though our house has a spectacular view, it’s no longer as much of a joy to see the view each morning as it was a few months ago. Instead of being stunned by the beauty outside my window, I’m beginning to question why the view is dazzling…why light refracts the way it does, causing trees below us to glisten in a certain way when the position of the sun is right. I question why the sounds of the farm animals in the valley below are louder in the morning than in the evening. I don’t tarry as long looking out the window at daybreak as I did just a month ago.
These little signs bother me. On the one hand, curiosity is good. On the other, curiosity follows wonder, signaling the end of awe.
This makes me feel overwhelmingly disappointed. Analysis requires one to keep one’s awe in check; I don’t want to keep my awe in check. I want to feel like a child seeing the earth’s wonders for the first time, every day. I am trying, but I can feel my failure build like a plague, consuming every cell in my brain.
Answers…just seeking answers…can quash awe.
