In the Presence of the Unknown

There is a kind of wisdom that does not announce itself, a current that runs beneath the surface of everyday life. It is the wisdom of the unknown, the hidden, the unspoken—alive in dreams, ancestors, the hush between heartbeats. For generations, much of this wisdom has been held, guarded, or lost—depending on which side of history you happen to stand.

Recently, my own journey has been an exploration of these hidden layers, a descent into the mysteries beneath the surface of “what everyone knows.” What I have found is that the way we relate to the unknown is deeply shaped by the cultures and stories that raised us.

Beauty and Sin: A Tale of Two Worldviews

There’s a line in Eternal Song that has haunted me:“Indigenous peoples saw themselves as beauty, while Europeans saw themselves as sin.”

This contrast is more than philosophical; it is foundational.

For many Indigenous and tribal societies, the world was (and is) sacred—a living web where every being has a place, a voice, a song. To be alive was to belong, to participate in the ongoing beauty of creation. Knowledge was not just accumulated; it was revealed, received, shared, and woven into community. Mystery was not an enemy, but a relative.

In contrast, the dominant European worldview—shaped by centuries of religious doctrine, conquest, and a fractured relationship with land—often taught people to see themselves as fallen, separate, in need of salvation. The unknown was feared, to be conquered, mapped, or explained away. The legacy of this divide runs through generations, shaping not only our stories but the very way we see ourselves and each other.

The Weight of the Unfinished Past

When we don’t get the past complete, it doesn’t go away. It waits. It festers in the silence between us, in the guilt we carry, often unspoken. That guilt seeps into how we relate to ourselves and the world—into our parenting, our politics, our institutions. We become haunted by what has not been acknowledged, what has not been grieved, what has not been made whole.

This is why “reconciliation” so often falls short. You cannot reconcile with what you have not yet truly seen or heard. You cannot move forward when the bones of the past still lie unburied beneath your feet.

Truth and Reconciliation: Whose Truth?

In the dialogue around Truth and Reconciliation—especially in places like Canada and Australia—there is an urgent need to recognize the difference between “truth” with a capital T and our own personal truths.

Capital-T Truth is often imagined as some absolute, objective reality. But in practice, most of us only ever have access to our own lived experience—our “little-t” truths. True reconciliation cannot happen until all truths are welcomed into the circle, until people have the lived experience of being fully heard and witnessed.

It’s not enough for governments to make statements, or for institutions to hold ceremonies. What is needed is deep listening—a willingness to be changed by what we hear, to let the unknown in, to grieve, and to allow healing to take root in the places we least expect.

The Importance of Not Making the Past Wrong

And yet, as I travel this path, I am continually reminded of how important it is not to make the past—or those who came before—“wrong.” This is not about excusing harm, erasing pain, or denying trauma. There are things in our shared history, and in our world today, that are deeply wounding and often unbearable to face.

Still, the act of making the past wrong, of blaming or shaming those who lived before us, often traps us in cycles of hurt and separation. It keeps us from seeing the fullness of humanity—the confusion, the struggle, the survival, the love and the ignorance—that shaped every decision and every moment. True healing asks us to acknowledge all of it: the beauty, the suffering, the wisdom, and the mistakes, without turning any part of it into the enemy.

This is hard. It is an act of courage and compassion. But it’s the only way we can transform inherited pain into something new—by holding it in the light, not by pushing it back into the shadows.

My Own Expansion: Returning to the Mystery

Over the past few months, I have felt myself called back to the mystery—the unknown and the unspoken. I have had to confront the ways in which I, too, inherited both the gifts and the wounds of my ancestors: the longing for beauty, and the shadow of shame.

As I have sat with elders, listened to stories, and watched the land itself speak in wind and shadow, I have begun to reclaim something I didn’t know I had lost: the courage to stand in the unknown, to let go of the need for certainty, and to receive wisdom that cannot be measured, only lived.

The journey is ongoing. There is no shortcut. But every time I allow another’s truth to be heard—without judgment, without rushing to solution—I feel a little more whole, a little more at home in this world.

Why I Bring This Forward

If you have read this far, I want you to know that my commitment in raising these questions and sharing these reflections is never to deepen division, nor to keep old wounds open. Instead, it is out of a longing for true healing—within myself, in my relationships, and in our collective human family. It is an invitation for us all to pause, to listen more deeply, and to enter into conversations that may be uncomfortable but are necessary if we are to create a world rooted in respect, connection, and understanding.

Perhaps that is the real gift of hidden knowledge: it invites us back into relationship—with ourselves, with each other, and with the vast unknown that lives at the center of all things.