I haven’t said much about the title of this blog, Mystery of Existence.
What does it mean? What is not a mystery? What is a mystery?
I have practical knowledge. I have stories about how things work, and when I use those stories as guidelines, I mostly get what I expect. These stories work well in a practical sense.
I drop a rock, and it falls. I eat less processed food with an emphasis on fruits and vegetables, and get at least some moderate exercise, and my body does pretty well. I relate to people a certain way, and they tend to relate back to me in a similar way.
So there is not so much of a mystery there.
Also, when what I am wake up to itself – even if it is not as clear and with as high volume as what is possible – it is not so much a mystery what I am. I am that which experience happens within and as. And I can also call it awakeness, and I without other, and so on.
So practical knowledge, used in everyday situations, is usually not so much of a mystery. And what I am, when what I am awakens to itself, is not so much of a mystery either.
Yet both of those are also profound mysteries.
I have stories about many things, and some of those stories may function well in a practical sense. But the truth is that I really don’t know. Beyond noticing that these stories appear to work more or less well as practical guidelines, I really don’t know. I cannot know anything for certain, not even what may appear most obvious and given.
It is all a mystery.
And as what I am, there is a profound mystery as well. That anything is at all is a profound mystery. Any words pointing to what I am and everything is – no thing appearing as something, that which experience happens within and as, awakeness, an I without an other – may have a practical value as a pointer in some situations, but what is has nothing to do with it.