curiosity breathes
and makes a request
It’s the awe of it. The beauty.
Opening and closing of petals.
Carve of cave, glint of light.
Maps of fingerprint, turtle shell, and tree root.
Flow of stream and soil and feet feeling stone.
It’s the marvel of it. The devotion.
The want and ask and reach.
The ache and the crumble.
Squished slug turns to pear tree.
Tear of salt.
Leaving to become.
It’s the stillness of it. The already.
Five points on a leaf, butterfly flight, spiral of breath.
Up and down, out and in, see and be seen.
It’s the love of it. The let be.
Let curiosity be.
Let it be alive as it is.
It doesn’t need to prove its worth.
It’s not a step (for what happens next) along a path.
And nothing comes before it.
It doesn’t require a spark or a toy or a program.
It doesn’t even require a question.
Curiosity is the spark.
It is the question and the seed.
It’s the aliveness of itself—the give and receive
of reciprocity, joy, devotion.
When you feel its essence within you,
maybe a tickle, tug, or roar—
pause,
say hello,
feel its fullness,
bow your head,
and listen.
Listen to the heartbeat of curiosity.
Lean back into the hold of its arms.
And receive its request:
Stay with me and breathe.
I am your breath.
You don’t need to do more.
Let something go,
then something else.
Let go of what binds the joy,
positions the judgment,
mutes the questions,
numbs the wandering.
Let it all fall away…
release it to the wind
who tells the geese
who tells the sky
who tells the soil
that you remember.
*
as delight, Melissa
Curiosity doesn’t need to prove its worth.
Curiosity doesn’t require a spark or a toy or a program.
It doesn’t even require a question.
You don’t need to do more.
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If you work in a context of learning and would like to open more space for adults and children to engage with the aliveness of curiosity, you might try these small shifts:
Remove a label.
Notice the names you use to frame learning: Math. Reading. Play. Rest. STEM. Art. Lab. Workshop. Club. Unit. Grade. Outdoor. Digital. Inquiry-based. Embedded. Sometimes even an open space gets named: Transition. Take one (or more) away. Simply name the parameters of the space: “We have 30 minutes to play with these materials.” or “You have an hour to explore in this area of the room.” The less something is named, the more space curiosity has to flow.
Loosen an edge.
We do this here. That goes there. It’s not time for __. This is called __. That doesn’t belong. __ This comes before that. We can’t go past __. Not now. Edges can be lovely and helpful limits. They aren’t problems in and of themselves, but they often become calcified, especially in spaces of learning. Notice for them and pick one or two to loosen a bit. Curiosity thrives in the blur.
Say less.
Give less direction. Verbalize fewer interpretations. Decrease the amount of narration in a moment. Let one question be enough. Give more space between what’s said. Observe and listen more. Curiosity loves ample silence and the space between words.
Ignore a bell.
Sure, there are some you want to listen to (for safety or because another human is expecting you or needs something specific), but there are a lot of bells (literal and metaphoric) you could choose to ignore. Watch what opens when you ignore even just one.
Enjoy.
Feel into the enjoyment of noticing and wondering and savoring and marveling and messing and listening and connecting and ahh-ahhing and hmm-hmming and pausing and trying and daydreaming and lingering and contradicting and oh-ohing and falling and releasing. Curiosity lives in each present moment. Enjoy the process.
