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I held my mom’s hand tightly as she took her last breath. The look on her face froze in that half-smile the Buddha is famous for. It was as if to confirm, absent breath, absent life, that there will always be something worth smiling for.
Since that moment four years ago, I’ve had a lot of what I like to call “unknowable experiences.” The flickering of lights. The letters that have shown up when I needed them. The few psychics and mediums that have reached out to me, rather than vice versa. An apocalyptic house fire that was not fatalistic. The list goes on.
These are the kind of experiences that, when placed under a microscope, could be intellectualized I suppose. It all comes down to what you believe in.
We all hold hope and faith in something, whether it’s reason and science or Jesus Christ himself. We all worship our own opinions and Truths. Because this is what’s required to experience meaning in life before death.
Having hope and faith in anything requires and justifies relinquishing one’s control in a “let go, let God” or a “let go, let Science” kind of way. That’s what’s always scared me.
As the optimistic skeptic that I am, I have tried to reason my “unknowable experiences” away. I’ve tried to contextualize them and…
