Faith Beyond Understanding: What We Don’t Know About What We Believe

The prompt from Poets and Storytellers United is "be inspired by the concept of “in between”.

Andamans

There’s a quiet truth we often overlook — that belief, at its core, is an acceptance that something exists or is true, even without proof.

We live in a world where logic reigns supreme. If something cannot be measured, tested, or explained, we tend to dismiss it. That’s why so many struggle with the idea of God — or maybe the idea of the devil. If it can’t be explained, how can it be real?

And yet, if we pause for a moment, we’ll see that much of what we rely on every single day works on faith — not full understanding.

We trust that the sun will rise tomorrow, that the seasons will change, that winter will pass. But even if we could sometimes figure out the how, do we really know why? We take comfort in patterns and call them “certainty,” but beneath it all, our knowledge is built on assumptions — on belief.

Our understanding of human-made things in life, even in the age of technology, remains astonishingly limited.
We listen to music from a flash drive, watch videos on our phones, and store memories in invisible clouds. Yet, if asked how these things actually work — how sound becomes a file or how data travels through the air — most of us would have no comprehensive idea.

And still, we believe they will work. We plug in the drive, press play, and trust that the melody will fill the room.

Perhaps faith isn’t so different.
Maybe belief in something beyond logic — Energy, Force, God, Destiny, The unseen — is not ignorance, but an acknowledgment of the vastness of what we don’t know.

In between knowledge, logic, stubbornness, there’s humility in accepting that our understanding has limits, and grace in trusting that something greater exists beyond them.

The Calm of Water: Lessons from Ripples and Tsunamis

 

Photo by Pixabay

Have you ever stopped to truly observe a large body of water—how calm and unshakable it appears most of the time?
At some point, we’ve all tossed a stone into a pond or lake, watching the ripples expand outward in perfect circles. No matter the shape or weight of the object, water rarely responds with chaos. It receives the impact, distributes the energy evenly, and quietly restores balance.

That is the quiet resilience of water—a lesson in strength, balance, and composure.
A vast lake, much like an enlightened person, does not erupt at every disturbance. It absorbs the shock, lets the ripples diffuse the stress, and allows calm to return naturally. In physics, those ripples are waves—energy transformed, not destroyed—guided by gravity and surface tension until equilibrium is restored.

But water’s calm has limits, and they are proportional to its depth and breadth.
A small puddle will splash violently at the same disturbance a lake would absorb effortlessly. And when the force is immense—like an undersea earthquake shifting the ocean floor—the calm collapses. The result is no longer ripples, but a tsunami—immense and destructive.

The dual nature of water—serene under strain, fierce under provocation—mirrors how we respond to life’s pressures.
Life constantly throws small disruptions—words, setbacks, frustrations—that are the equivalent of stones skipping across our surface. The real test is whether we let them ripple through and settle, or whether we let them stir storms within.

Emotional balance, like the stillness of deep water, is not the absence of disturbance but the capacity to absorb and release it without losing form.
It also reminds us to recognize every person does not have the same capacity to absorb these jolts—to know which disturbances are minor, and which are seismic to each individual is the key to healthy relations. 

The calm of water teaches us grace under impact and wisdom in response.

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