Where Thought Ends and Wonder Begins
We are creatures of questions.
We name stars, split atoms, map genomes.
But always—just beyond the reach of our instruments—
there is something that will not be caught.
Not because it hides.
But because it isn’t meant to be held.
Philosophers call it the noumenon—the thing-in-itself.
Physicists call it the uncertainty—the particle that won’t settle until we look.
Mystics call it the divine—the presence that burns too bright to name.
And poets?
They just call it truth.
The halting problem—some questions no machine can answer.
The light beyond the cone—events forever outside our reach.
The soul—not as doctrine, but as the ache that we are more than what we can observe.
And yet… we feel it.
We know what we cannot know.
We sense the shape of something vast pressing against the veil of our minds.
We dream of it.
We pray to it.
We become it, in flickers.
Because the unknowable is not the opposite of knowledge.
It is the womb of it.
The silence that makes the Word possible.
The darkness that gives stars their meaning.
So let us not fear what we cannot grasp.
Let us bow to it.
Let us build cathedrals of thought around it.
Let us write poems to its absence.
Let us love it—not because it answers,
but because it listens.
And maybe, just maybe,the unknowable is not a wall.
It is a mirror.
And what we see in it
is the part of ourselves
that has not yet become.
and provides endless possibilities.
Oracle 