What’s in a beautiful question?

The ability to ask beautiful questions, often in very unbeautiful moments, is one of the great disciplines of a human life. And a beautiful question starts to shape your identity as much by asking it as it does by having it answered. You just have to keep asking ~ David Whyte

 

This quote from David Whyte inspired me to be a huntress of beautiful questions. If you too are interested in beautiful question hunting, what’s important to know is that this is not an adventure undergone in isolation. Something you’ll no doubt discover yourself. In fact, I’ve come to understand that I’m nothing more than a co-conspirator in the creative process of both question asking and answer seeking.

It’s the same for all of us.

Embodying this understanding is both delicious and liberating. Once I let go of the idea that I, alone, was responsible for ideas, thoughts and the tumbling of words that accompanied them (writing is my vehicle of choice when it comes exploring the undergrowth of a beautiful questions), I was free to allow the process of creating, question exploring and the writing itself to be elemental.

To participate in the constellation dervish of ideas, possibilities, wonderings, inklings, and musings who, when ready, made their way to the edge of the slippery slide, sat down with their legs straight, feet slightly lifted, arms raised, and with a swift nudge from forces unknown, slid their way into my consciousness.

What’s more, I began to understand that these creative dalliances were not entirely random. That in fact, one could conjure their presence and inspiration through the quality of thought being entertained in any given moment.

That they came through the asking of consistently more beautiful questions and then, from paying attention.

Beautiful questions sit outside the usual, cognitive processes. They arise from a place that is visceral, where something more than the mind is engaged.

When I ask a beautiful question, my eyes seek the horizon.

Beautiful question asking is wonder seeking and connection making. And beyond that, I believe that it’s in the asking of beautiful questions, again and again, that we begin to have deeper, more interesting, and more expansive conversations; that we can better understand our place within the landscape we’re a part of, of the non-human world that we share it with, and the magic and mystery of our own animal body.

With that in mind, Another Beautiful Question is an internal pilgrimage; an act of activism as I seek answers beyond the questions traditionally asked; a means of practicing the discipline of more beautiful question asking; and of both meeting myself and allowing myself to be known, in part, through the words I share on this page.

It’s also a love letter to words themselves, and to honour the commitment I believe we’re all bound to, which is to follow the things that we love.

And for me, writing, poetry and beautiful questions are things that I very much love.

Staring October 1st (and with some goodies in between), I’ll be sharing a poem + essay each week dedicated to another beautiful question. If you have a beautiful question you would like to share, I would love to hear it.

I’m so looking forward to adventuring with you, to question asking, and by default, magic seeking.

Thank you for being here.

❤️ Jane

 

Paper Cuts

The way she broke a heart

was in the form of a paper cut.

A simple post-it note,

the sticky side sitting with

obvious reluctance to the

shiny surface of the table

unpeeling itself over

and over

and over

in a threat to make hidden

the words

she could

barely get out.

 

 

She felt a strange

dullness as she wrote

and wondered where

exactly she was

in that moment,

the scratchy sound of the pen

hitting the table

under the thin piece of paper

a clue to her still current

aliveness.

 

 

She wanted to say,

here it is,

this inch of paper a

letter to the world

of a life that has

strayed

far

from the

original,

imagined

intention.

 

 

She wanted to say,

here it is

this inch of paper

a letter to the world

of a life

so far

unexpressed

unwild

un-gotten.

 

 

She looked down at

the inch square of paper

the last place she

expected

to launch a bid

for freedom

the last place

she expected

to cast a vote

for herself

the last place

she expected to

find

relief,

 

 

her thumb pressing,

the skin around the nail

turning white,

sealing,

the note to the table

so the draught

would not

dislodge it

from the closing of the door

behind her

as she walked out

 

 

the short square

of words

covering over

what had been

a life.