Standing at the Edge of the Leaf

Nikos Kazantzakis once wrote that we are like tiny grubs crawling on a single leaf of a vast tree. That leaf is our Earth. The other leaves are the stars, scattered across the night sky. Most of us spend our lives examining the leaf: tasting it, smelling it, trying to understand it, worrying whether it is good or bad.

But some reach the edge. From there, we see the abyss — the vast, immeasurable space that surrounds us. And that moment brings fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of chaos. Fear of something deep inside us that has no name. Many try to cover that fear with answers. Some call it God . Others invent explanations to ease their trembling hearts. And then there are the few who stand at the edge, look into the depth of space, and say: “I like it.”

I find myself among those few. For me, looking into that endless, silent mystery is not terrifying — it is calming. It reminds me how small my daily struggles really are. My work, my problems, my worries — they shrink in the presence of this vastness.

When I zoom out to see the whole picture, life becomes lighter. Contentment grows. The lows of life stop weighing so heavily. Because the universe, in all its mystery, holds everything. It contains all that we know — and all that we will never know.

And here is the paradox: it is the nothingness that becomes essential. That deep space we cannot touch, cannot smell, cannot feel — without it, nothing would be as it is. The void makes room for the stars, for Earth, for us.

That thought gives me peace of mind. The acceptance that not everything can be explained, that some things are meant to remain vast and immeasurable. It allows me to live more fully in the small details of life, while holding on to the awe of the bigger picture.

So I choose to stand at the edge of the leaf — not afraid, not covering the unknown, but embracing it. Because sometimes, staring into the abyss is exactly what brings clarity, peace, and perspective.

From the book Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis from 1946