I once found it everywhere— the tufts of a dandelion, that belt of Orion, eerie shadows and earthy mole holes. I found it without even tryin'.   Then, when exploration I’d outgrown, explanation I honed. Mystery was judged, feared, despised. Certainty was justified, loved, adored. Everything categorized and defined in the modern mind. Think on this: human reason resists the detached, distant feel that mystery conveys. But is mystery far away, per se? The shingles of a snowflake falling here on my chin puzzle me more than the staging of Stonehenge in south England. The intimate stillness at the Lord’s Table confounds me more than the tower of Babel.…