Where does the solid end and the imaginary begin?
Part of the mystery is not being exactly sure, or even knowing with any certainty what you are looking at. We have an inclination to understand things, as though being able to explain something gives us some mastery over it.
But that is usually a false mastery. False in the sense that it is grounded in an illusion, that from our limited vantage point and with our limited minds, we can somehow know and understand a plant or even a leaf.
This isn't meant as a criticism, simply an observation, although, with complete honesty, I acknowledge my own preoccupation, my narcissism and gentle arrogance that often comes when I lose my focus or am not paying attention.
The point is only that the mystery is central. Looking, seeing, vision - that's the mystery, the point of it all. And the glorious, endless beauty of this world is lessened by some degree when I spend more time "understanding" it than I spend simply being, simply seeing.
So I shift. Happens often. And what I remember is that It is enough, it is always enough.