When I was younger, I had an incredible appetite for knowledge. I read everything I could find on any and all subjects that caught my fancy. If I was into trees, I had to "know" the names of each, the shape of their leaves and attributes along with their habitat and history. When I became a jewelry designer, each stone was a new world unto itself. I could sit for hours fondling and gazing into the depth of each new obsession. The crystals and stones became my personal project. I researched constantly as books have always been my mainstay in life.
As I have grown older I have noticed I no longer have the urge to know everything about anything. Does my knowing the name of a tree make it any more or less magnificent? Does it matter if I hold a rose quartz in my hand or a pink opal? Words and labels have their place indeed but of late I am animated by something deeper, more intimate. This very sentiment jumped out of a poem this morning.
The world does not need words. It articulates itself
in sunlight, leaves, and shadows. The stones on the path
are no less real for lying uncatalogued and uncounted.
The fluent leaves speak only the dialect of pure being.
The kiss is still fully itself though no words were spoken.