A duck waddled to the edge of the lake, and perched on a half submerged log. Having found a stable footing, it began to bathe, twisting its neck all the way around to dig under its wings with its long wide beak, then around the legs, reaching all the way to its tail, not missing an inch of its feathered body. Finally, after a quick dip in the water and a vigorous flutter of its chest, wings, and tail, shaking the water off, it turned its neck backwards, rested it between its wings, and closed its eyes.
There, in the water, everything was resting: the duck on the log, the log under the duck, the rocks under the log. The shadow of the leaves fluttering in the wind danced across the waves as they sloshed against the shore gently. Not a thing in this quaint little corner of the world reminded one of humankind, and all was just well. Civilizations could have been born and extinguished in the river of time, yet the waves hugging the shore would have still rocked the duck as it rested in the eternal now.
One wonders what is one to do with one’s one wild precious life. Inquiring into this simple yet immense question reveals that one can never find another’s answer to this question satisfactory. One has to stand absolutely alone before the question; this can feel daunting. But if one stands with the question, in stillness, for a moment, one begins to see that the only way to find out what one is to do is to begin to inquire into the question oneself: that only with one’s own eyes can one see, only with one’s own heart can one feel, and only with one’s own mind can one understand. So one has to go into it oneself. In this state of being, one begins to peer into the unknown. So much so that in the known, one begins to discover the unknown. Soon, all that one thought one knew, one realizes one does not actually know, with nothing to know save the unknown. In fear and awe of this unknown, one stands still, and sings, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I don’t know about anything.”
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