Where do you find wonder? Is it on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon? From the upper observation deck of the Empire State Building? Inside a cathedral? Beneath a redwood? On top Jockey Ridge between sound and ocean? On rough seas? “Keep going,” you say, “you haven’t named it yet.”
Of course, I haven’t. I cannot know where you experience wonder, but I have an idea. Your sense of wonder comes upon you unexpectedly, even when you think you have a “favorite” place of wonder. One of the reasons for the unexpectedness is that familiarity dulls us, takes off the edge, so to speak.
Meditating monks speak of “spiritual dryness,” and ask whether or not they have been abandoned or lost their faith. Sameness does that to us. Want to open the door to wonder? Stare.
You are familiar with your hands. You use them without thinking. Want a pencil? See it; pick it up. Not much wonder in that, right? Try something that might change the most ordinary of experiences into the occasional, unexpected and unpredictable wonder. Stare at one of your hands. Do nothing else. Merely stare, and do so away from distraction and the attention of others. Stare in quiet. No music. No traffic. No running dishwasher. Merely stare.
When your hand seems “strange,” you are on the verge of discovering the secret to unlocking more wonder. Almost any place, even the most familiar, can become a source of wonder.
Of course, I haven’t. I cannot know where you experience wonder, but I have an idea. Your sense of wonder comes upon you unexpectedly, even when you think you have a “favorite” place of wonder. One of the reasons for the unexpectedness is that familiarity dulls us, takes off the edge, so to speak.
Meditating monks speak of “spiritual dryness,” and ask whether or not they have been abandoned or lost their faith. Sameness does that to us. Want to open the door to wonder? Stare.
You are familiar with your hands. You use them without thinking. Want a pencil? See it; pick it up. Not much wonder in that, right? Try something that might change the most ordinary of experiences into the occasional, unexpected and unpredictable wonder. Stare at one of your hands. Do nothing else. Merely stare, and do so away from distraction and the attention of others. Stare in quiet. No music. No traffic. No running dishwasher. Merely stare.
When your hand seems “strange,” you are on the verge of discovering the secret to unlocking more wonder. Almost any place, even the most familiar, can become a source of wonder.
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