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At least this: openness begins in the willingness to pause and listen—not merely to the words that others share, but to the silence between them, to the notes of the symphony they may not yet know they are playing. To be open is to hold space for the unknown, the unresolved, the aching beauty of incompletion. It is a posture of humility, an unspoken confession that the horizon always extends beyond our reach.
But also perhaps this: openness is a quiet defiance against the fear of uncertainty. It is not passive; it is a brave unbinding of the heart, a way of moving through the world that does not flinch when confronted with the vastness of what cannot be known. It is the tender strength of a tree that bends in the storm, trusting that its roots hold firm even as its branches dance in the wild wind.
Maybe this: To be open is to live as a question rather than an answer. Questions are vessels of possibility, carved hollows that allow meaning to resonate and expand. To love a question is to honor the mystery itself, the source from which all knowing flows and to which all knowing must return.
