Briefly, this reflection is about a question – How will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?

And, to elaborate…

Lately, I’ve been haunted by a question. Not in a spooky, ghost-under-the-bed kind of way, but more like the quiet murmur of something ancient and wise that keeps tapping me on the shoulder at various random moments. It emerged when I came across something from the Greek philosopher Meno, tossed out in a dialogue with Socrates. He asks: “How will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?”

And damn if that isn’t the most beautiful, maddening, soul-level question I have heard in a while. It happens to be very pertinent to an inquiry I have been sitting with, of the “deep inner kind,” which has been working me for some time now. Not in the way you figure something out, but in the way yeast works on dough. Slow. Invisible. Transformative. Frustrating too.

“Go there, not knowing where. Seek that, not knowing what.” – from an old Russian fairy-tale.

I like clarity. I like knowing. Perhaps it is part of the nature of being human. Perhaps because of my chaotic upbringing and childhood wounds of what would happen when I didn’t know the correct answer. Whatever the origins might be, even when I am faced with an inner inquiry of a mysterious kind, I like to at least be able to articulate and frame what exactly I am facing, to narrow and sharpen my focus. So to admit that I don’t know what I’m looking for… to say that maybe I never did… that’s not just humbling. It falls in the category of ego-stripping.

Which is where the softening begins.

Instead of tightening my grip, which I know all too well how to do, I have started loosening. Letting the question simply be with me. No chase. No fix-it plan. No force it into submission. Just breathing next to it and with it. Sitting in its presence like you’d sit beside a close friend who doesn’t talk much but makes you feel more like yourself just by being there. Or beside a dog.

And as I have been doing that, as well as reflecting on various past moments of such experiences, a few quiet insights have emerged:

1) The maps I have followed so far, be they achievement, success, impact, even “personal growth” or awakening, have taken me a long way. But they only lead to places I already have words for. They don’t get me to the mystery.

2) Not-knowing is not the same as being lost. It’s more like becoming porous. Receptive. I am less armoured now. More affected by beauty. More open to awe. I tear up more easily – not from sadness, even though there is that too, but from some raw sweetness I can’t explain. Like my heart is getting rewired to feel without needing a reason.

3) Tenderness is becoming a more familiar and intimate guide. Not a flashy or a loud one. But the kind that shows up when I let go of the need to be impressive. The kind that nudges me toward slower mornings, or saying “I don’t know” without shame, or letting a moment touch me instead of rushing past it.

4) There are no shortcuts to any place worth going. There is no bypassing, or skipping over, any of the unknown number of steps in this process. It requires patience and trust.

“So much of what gives life meaning and joy and aliveness is about what happens when we surrender, and let predictability yield to serendipity.” – anonymous

And what’s odd, in the best way, is that I feel more alive in these unguarded moments than I ever did when I was in control. When I’m not trying to “make the most” of life, life actually makes something of me. The more I soften, the more permeable I become. And in that permeability, I start to sense things I couldn’t when I was all braced up. Glimmers. Echoes. Hints of a deeper thread being woven underneath the obvious narrative.

I won’t lie – there is still a part of me that wants to know. That wants to name “the thing” and hunt it down and plant a flag in it like, “There! I found it! Now I know!” But that part is relaxing its grip. Slowly. But still. Because I’m beginning to suspect that the real treasure isn’t an answer, but a way of being.

So how will I go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to me?

By letting it find me, maybe. By becoming soft enough, still enough, brave enough to sit in the unknown without flinching. By trusting that sometimes, not-knowing is the most honest, intimate place to stand. And from there – from that place of quiet not-knowing – something begins to shimmer. Not a conclusion. But a beginning.

What about you?

Is there something stirring in your life that doesn’t have a name yet? A quiet ache, a flicker, a scent you can’t quite place?

If so, maybe this is your invitation to stop trying to figure it out and instead… listen. Breathe beside it. Let it work on you the way moonlight works on tide. You don’t have to know what it is. You just have to let it touch you.

“I have a theory that the moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. I have tried this experiment a thousand times and I have never been disappointed. The more I look at a thing, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I want to see. It is like peeling an onion. There is always another layer, and another, and another. And each layer is more beautiful than the last. This is the way I look at the world. I don’t see it as a collection of objects, but as a vast and mysterious organism. I see the beauty in the smallest things, and I find wonder in the most ordinary events. I am always looking for the hidden meaning, the secret message. I am always trying to understand the mystery of life. I know that I will never understand everything, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. I am content to live in the mystery, to be surrounded by the unknown. I am content to be a seeker, a pilgrim, a traveler on the road to nowhere.” – Henry Miller

P.S.
There are days when this feels profound and sacred, and others when I’d trade all this mystery for a clear checklist, a kombucha, and a handful of medjool dates. I don’t always get it right (whatever that means). I forget. I resist. I grip again. But slowly, something in me is yielding. Opening. Softening. And in those moments, when I can feel my heart just a little more exposed, a little more alive, I know I am on the right track. Even if I have no idea where I’m going.

If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. What is stirring in your inner landscape these days? What is (yet) unnamed but quietly knocking?