I have a recurrent dream. I am walking down a hallway seemingly without end. There are identical doors on the right and left. The doors are all closed but not locked. I don’t feel any panic or unease. The infinitude of the hallway is not disconcerting. There are no monsters here. At any point, I know I can open a door without fear. I awaken without anxiety. In fact, I am composed and rested.
I wonder: where was I? Where am I? This dream may reflect any number of possible unconscious thoughts or desires. A growing body of research suggests that dreams might be a product of the brain’s predictive processing mechanisms, continuously generating and testing predictions about the world. This view sees dreams as a way for the brain to refine its predictive models.
This notion of predictive processing doesn’t reflect the dream’s more profound meaning as I have experienced it. What it feels like is a trip into my mind. Behind every door is an imponderable question, a question I may have never thought about.
I have a collection of imponderable questions. Curious about other people’s questions, I googled ‘imponderable questions’. I expected a million lists of perplexing conundrums. Instead, I saw website after website of jokes. “Why do they call it rush hour if nobody’s moving?” “Why are the names Zoe and Zoey pronounced identically but not Joe and Joey?”
There was no sign of a serious list of tough, deep questions. Perhaps it’s all about the unease folks may feel about going deep. It can be disconcerting to start thinking about space, time, matter, and consciousness. It may feel frightening to realize that there are so many imponderable questions. But isn’t that the true thrill in life? To realize how much mystery remains in our world.
I have a list. Why is the speed of light the absolute speed limit of the Universe? The Universe is expanding; expanding into what? Where did the tradition of reading the haftarah originate, and why? What is the origin of consciousness? What if the Universe as a whole is conscious, and our individual consciousnesses are aspects of this cosmic consciousness?
I love to ponder these questions, so basic and yet unknowable. If I were to open random doors in my infinite hallway, which I believe to be my creative unconscious, I might find this one: if all living matter is conscious (called panpsychism), then what does a leaf ‘know’? What might that leaf be thinking today? It may be luxuriating in its yearlong life, from the bud burst days to now, bedecked in outstanding brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows.
If panpsychism is a thing, then perhaps the leaf is aware of temperature change, that it’s cooling off. And does the leaf know what happens next as the temperature chills down? Can it feel the tree stop producing chlorophyll, that as the chlorophyll gets switched off, its color emerges? That its beauty is a sign of its demise?
Yes, I know. This is a flight of fantasy. But I feel it all around me. The leaves are changing. Their beauty is a firm reminder that life keeps moving forward without pause. The gorgeous full canopy of healthy trees will soon give way to multi-colored splendor, which will, in turn, yield dead, brown leaves and branches exposed to the cold. And then it all comes around again.
The Jewish New Year happens, at least for New Englanders, right in the midst of this arboreal transition. It matches our thoughts and experiences as we ponder the big questions about the meaning and direction of our lives. Some things brighten, and others fade.
How will we choose to live our lives? Can we forgive and be forgiven? Can we lean into empathy and thoughtfulness? These are some questions behind the doors in your hallway. Open them up.
Before Shabbat 