Tuesday, August 4, 2015
The tyrrany of questions
In the last days of work, before vacation came, I was walking to work. The air was good and all the ultra violet flowers were experimenting with their colors. The houses and trees were cottages and forests and I felt free and happy. But I knew that feeling would be gone in a minute or two and I wanted to hold on to it.
Some things you can't hold.
I didn't have a good day.
I don't know what we walk through in this life that we can go from walking in a glorious children's picture book, a fairy tale, only to climb up a hill that ends at its beginning and turns to machine. We go into the pitch black, through grief, into exhaustion, and then we forget how to walk and find ourselves kicking ourselves as we do it. Then we are into the meadow again, with the deer and the antelope, a breeze, and maybe a hand to hold.
Here then is my post it note from that walk that day. I like to have the answers, don't I? I am all over the answers here, but answers have a curious way of slipping back into questions. It is as if questions are the native form of all answers. What a way to make a world.
But I'll endeavor not to complain about that today
My post it note was just this question:
How do we not hold onto life too hard, but still squeeze the juice from it?