What you (may) want to do is take a central question, and get married. One of my favored paramours is: ‘what are the trees?’ With this kind of question you can exceed all expectation, so long as each ‘answer’ is just the figure that invites even deeper and further ardency. Because the question is partly about yourself, and as you pursue it more and more ardently, the question informs you in ways otherwise uncommon and exotic.

My questions are my mind’s harem, deep within my heart, the ecstatic loves of my imagination and long acquaintance. Each time we celebrate our reunions we together elicit sudden, unexpected ecstasies — resonating waves of learning, growth, insight, and playful discovery. Sometimes we have extremely gregarious [redacted]. Old questions, new questions, each connotating, contrasting, contextualizing each other — it’s [indecipherable]. In fact, participating in physical [redacted] without this would be like being immersed in light without seeing. One might touch and feel some aspect of what visible light might otherwise reveal — perhaps even more intimately than with eyes — but the tactile sensations simply cannot speak of —color— or gestalt.

“What are trees?” The question is so profound and deep that it cannot be exhausted. But one who is shallow answers quickly and for all time, abandoning their paramour for a token, and moving on to chase some other more compelling figure. All will be lost. The trees will just be objects. Tokens. The questions become mechanical and dead. Trees and creativity are just things that get in the way or make work. A problem. A danger. A ‘resource’ to be converted. Alas in such a case, for what trees are to us? We and our minds become. And more I will not say. For think a moment upon then upon the question ‘what are birds?’