Two Zen teachers meet; one is carrying his bags. “Where are you going?”, inquires the first teacher.

“I’m going on a pilgrimage”, the other teacher responds.

“What’s the purpose of pilgrimage?” asks the first teacher.

“I don’t know.” he responds.

“Not knowing is most intimate.” Replies the first teacher

This phrase, “not knowing is most intimate” could be said to be the heart of Zen philosophy. It is also much like the second part of the “Less Manifesto” – Less Assumptions (from the book Less: Accomplishing More By Doing Less. The others are less fear, distractions, resistance, and busyness.)

In Zen, like in our lives, much of the dialogue is in metaphors. “Where are you going” can be a simple query, or it can mean, “What are you doing with your life?”

“I’m on a pilgrimage”; Aren’t we all on a pilgrimage? In many ways, our life is just that, a pilgrimage. We are born in a particular place, at a particular time. We take our first steps. We are separate, we are dependent, we are interdependent. At any time, any play, our lives are a pilgrimage.

The response, “I don’t know” feels radically honest. What do we really know about ourselves, our experience, our world? He’s not trying to say something wise or impressive. Maybe he expects some guidance or advice.

Instead, he receives a gift: “Not knowing is most intimate.” Not knowing is just right. Perhaps what he was looking for, he had all along, only he didn’t know it.

The word intimacy in the Zen world is a way of speaking about awakening or enlightenment. I much prefer the word intimacy. Awakening and enlightenment implies some special state of mind, some kind of mystical experience, far removed from our day-to-day lives. We might think that awakening or enlightenment will somehow remove us from our daily struggles and problems. Intimacy brings us closer, to ourselves, to others, to our problems.

Knowing can be an obstacle, can even be our enemy. Our knowing can limit our vision. Much like the famous illusion/image of a woman’s face – that some people see as an old woman, other’s see as a young woman. We think we know; whichever we see, we are convinced that this is it. How can others see something so different. Isn’t this how much of life is?

This moment – this person, this illness, this opportunity, this pain or beauty – what is it?; how can we respond? How can we not be caught or limited by what we think we know?

With not knowing, I am open, ready, willing to learn, to be surprised. I can see and hear others beyond my own ideas. Though my experience and knowledge are important, they can get in the way. When I let go of my own ideas, I can be present, humble. When I am humble, I am not afraid. I can enter this moment, engaged, moved, open – intimate.