What does it matter? Why do we care? What
insatiable need does our mind have to
know how things began?
"Beginning with the single thought that has no beginning, the multifarious things thus come to be. When you go and look carefully for its source, being a single thought with no beginning, you find that it has none at all. Having no origin at all, the birth of the infinite variety of things could be called a mystery."
-
Takuan Soho, "
The Clear Sound of Jewels"
All of recorded human civilization has devoted itself to particular descriptions of the origins of things. Be it gods in the sky, a god in our hearts, or the god of our intellect, we construct a catch-all origin to put our minds at ease.
Must it be this way? Why can't we be content with life's mysteries, winding our way through with wonder and appreciation, ponderous understanding, letting the answers come when they will and leave when they must?