Who am I to question my existence?

I wonder and question sometimes, who am I?

With this I hear back a voice within me whispering, who am I to question my existence? And the voice is right.

The river does not resist its journey from the mountain to the sea. It carves valleys, nourishes fields, quenches thirsts, and still moves on, never asking why it flows, never demanding a purpose for its giving. Whether it arrives as a gentle stream or a raging flood, its only truth is to move, to offer, to become. And I wonder, if even a river does not ask, who am I to question my existence?

The wind drifts from one corner of the earth to another, touching leaves, carrying seeds, bending trees, sometimes tender, sometimes fierce. It has no map, no destination, no certainty of where it must go next, yet it goes, unhesitating, unashamed of its wildness. It does not pause to ask why it moves, or whether its touch is welcome. If the wind does not question, who am I to question my existence?

The sun rises and falls without condition, gifting light to saints and sinners alike. It burns with no apology, shines without expectation, and rests into darkness only to return again. It does not wonder whether its fire is too much, or its absence too heavy. It simply is, in its brilliance and in its silence. And if the sun itself does not ask for meaning, who am I to question my existence?

The tree stands through seasons, rooted and still, blossoming in spring, shedding in autumn, baring itself in winter, opening again in summer. It offers shade, fruit, fragrance, even its fallen leaves back to the soil, never resisting its cycles. It does not ask whether its branches are enough or its roots too deep. It simply grows, simply gives. And so, who am I to question my existence?

let me not chase answers,

let me not tear apart the silence,

but let me sit in the vastness of being,

where breath is enough,

where ache too is holy,

where even the unanswered belongs.

I rest in this knowing, life is not a riddle to be solved but a river to be entered, a wind to be felt, a sun to be warmed by, a tree to lean upon. My task is not to question, but to flow, to live with awareness, to burn with presence, and to return everything I have back to the 'One' who gave it. Gratitude then becomes my prayer, and awareness my home.

Rumi once said, 'Try not to resist life. Just let it flow. Let it happen.' And so I do.

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© 2025 Beyond Silence. Written by 'the one listening.'

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