Strangeness Dwells Within Us

This is what I’ve learned over all the years I’ve had philosophical conversations with all sorts of human beings: there is a great mystery at the heart of human existence, indeed at the heart of each of us. A creature may seem so plain, so ordinary, to live such an unadventurous and boring life, only to find through some experience, event, or chance moment that there lies within him or her these immense, vast inner depths, depths that until such revelation had remained hidden.

We have vast inner depths that may be so close to us that we cannot see them or so removed from our ordinary consciousness that they seem extraordinarily far from us. So immanent, we might say, as to be intimate or so transcendent as to be infinite. (Like God.)

I see it as my gift to reveal through words, presence, and silence, through a certain orchestration of these, the mystery at the heart of each of us. The question is the seed of revelation. When all the questions have run dry, wordlessness then allows that mystery, that strangeness welling up in us, to make its presence felt, to be felt in laughter and in tears, often in both, or in silent acknowledgement of sacred ineffability.

Strangeness dwells within us, and we just don’t know it. And there is something stranger still: that strangeness is immeasurably beautiful and incomprehensibly astonishing and irreducibly mysterious. Just think of that, allowing yourself the barest hint of what it would be like to experience it.