Wonder sounds like a good thing. Wonderful, right? A child's wonder at the world. The idea carries a certain innocence, implies lightness like bubbles of curious colour. Awe, joy, a fundamental opening response.
And certainly, wonder is often like that.
Wonder is also this: a gnawing, incessant desire to UNDERSTAND, the very act a leap from that desire to...well, nothing that I can see from here. Is this a wonder to cultivate? It unseats my security, turns my world to chaos, demands that I accept the state of wonder as is, no expectations, no attachments, never a resolution. Wonder, my constant companion, allowing me to accept nothing I see, nothing I hear, at the level on which I receive it. Wonder, forcing me to hold multitudes of data points in constant, swirling company, seeking unexpected patterns.
Wonder is also this: a demanding child, pushing for attention when I'm tired, tired, tired, saying - "look! A balloon! It's red! And I say, "yes, it's red." and she knows I'm not listening so she says it again, "but mommy, it's red!" and I don't even look at the balloon or her as I repeat it, "yes, honey, it's red" and then I happen to look down, and her blue eyes are right on me and beside her, the balloon is red. Bright, beautiful red, like her lips, like her cheeks, and I am in awe that this child is here, with me, and cares to share this experience of red with someone so distracted and jaded.
"It's so beautiful. Thank you for showing me."
(I've pretty much given up editing if I'm going to actually blog every day. If you followed me before you'll know I usually blog a few times a MONTH. But so far, so good... #reverb10)
