On Wonder’s Insistence

If we listen quietly, we will hear the insistence of wonder ringing everywhere.

hellohellohello, 

I hope this message finds you…

• In the vicinity of the smell of maple syrup

• Intrigued by something shiny and curious

• Quietly tucked into a recurring daydream

• Nearing a moment of self tenderness (perhaps in the form of drinking water, or cuddling a pet, or a great, deep breath). 

I’ve been welcoming Fall with a conduction of small sensory experiments. One day I tested how different tastes felt on my tongue. A drop of lemon resulted in a texture of spiky grass, while a spoonful of honey brought a sense of a warm raindrop falling onto my shoulder. The other month I tried to see how long I could stretch that disorienting pocket of time between waking up from sleep and being consciously awake. This week I’ve been going on little walks without my headphones and listening for small sounds, like buttons being clicked into place on a jacket or birds chattering secrets in a hidden nest. All of these experiments have been a part of a larger goal - rooting for the necessity of wonder. 

Today I want to meander through the questions: what is wonder, why do we need it, and when so often the world pulls towards urgency and rush, how do we tune into wonder’s offering?