When I start asking questions, they pile up in , I don’t know how many. It is even pointless to think how many. Many mysteries have no explanations, absolutely none. One of which is existence. I myself am a mystery. It is possible that the way I am habited to get answers or the kind of answers I seek is the problem. How can I get a perfect explanation for existence? Can I? I don’t think so..
This makes my current existence incomplete. I am incomplete all the time. I have answers which I have been taught or which I read somewhere for some of the things but for many of the basic mysteries I have no answer. I have no foundation on which I can place all the other answers. I have no complete picture. I think these type of questions, the questions which i ask or the kind of picture I seek and am expecting is itself a very tiny limited dimension itself. So when Descartes says that the concept of god is embedded in us, is it this basic feeling of incompleteness? Is it this basic feeling which then translates into some extrapolation which we call by many names of which the one is god? This emptiness, this hollowness, this incompleteness which when we dream is to be completed, filled with the whole and total picture and all the seeming answers and finally control, we imagine of different concepts of completeness, wholeness and we paint it in our colours. If we remain stuck to our dimension there is no end to the pictures and paintings that we can make…we can imagine and dream endlessly in the basic structure which is made by the questions in that dimension.
Incompleteness
