I talk a lot about how amazing life is when you become a little dumber.
“I don’t know” is our freedom mantra in the LSBC grad community. We say “I don’t know!” with giddiness and massive relief.
Smart has its time and place, but dumb is true. We don’t know, but our minds tell us we do and that’s where our suffering begins.
I want to share one of my favorite poems. It’s called Woods by Noelle Oxenhandler.
I wish to grow dumber,
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
til the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will not know who loves me
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember,
nothing to forgive,
I will stumble into the juice of berry, the
shag of bark,
I will be dense and happy as fur.
Nothing to count. Nothing to remember. Nothing to forgive.
Slipping into a space that is blind and deep. It’s home.
It’s practical and simple. Only our smarts get in the way.