Silly rabbit

I'd always been a seeker.

Maybe not the kind as envisioned by J.K.Rowling, but now that I think about it, maybe she meant something by inventing that game?

Fiction writers are always doing stuff like that.

I'll leave it to anyone who can draw a straight line from this to that and say "I've got it" - with that self satisfied air of knowing - meaning that according to their reading of her story, they've crawled under her covers and understand what she really meant and isn't it all just so obvious?

Look, they've made up a story about a story, and in their story, they found the truth! Surprised?

Anyway, back to seeking.

My interest in getting things into mental boxes and having answers and knowing stuff was pretty strong.

Are there secret patterns, probabilities of pot holes, predictable trajectories? Where does this all lead?

I liked seeking answers to big questions - like people, natural laws, the order of the universe, the mind, relationships, biology, happiness and a personal favorite - the big kahuna - birth, life and death.

And of course the answers to little questions like, where'd I leave my keys? Why'd I agree to come to this meeting? Is this guy ever going to shut up? When's lunch? Will there be dancing? Is there any room in this price?

In my early days of seeking, I found lots of answers. And that felt really great. OMG!! Answers!

Like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I did a high five leprechaun dance and happily flung my new answers around in the sunshine. Feeling good, me and my answers, snuggled up, safe and cozy. A virtual security blanket, a comfortable life, clear skin, healthy gums, certainty, freedom from chaos, cholesterol and cellulite.

Life was good.

Then the whole seeking thing kicked in again.

And answers appeared that contradicted the answers I had found before.


I couldn't yet imagine that there might be multiple answers, so I substituted the new answers for the old ones. This was a particularly satisfying process. The new answers were accompanied by an internal sense of righteousness at correcting my own mistakes.

In addition to righteousness, replacing earlier answers was also coupled with what seemed like wisdom, really deep throated, a James Earl Jones voice over murmuring, "oh yes, this is it". These were the answers that every seeker ever sought.

Kind of like basil gelato. Unexpected but delicious, these answers were far superior to those earlier answers!

I pointed to history and found comfort from other seekers. I looked into the future and saw only peace, security and infinite parking spaces. I'd arrived at the holy land of answers and basked there in my certainty.

And of course, as soon as I got good at swapping one answer for another - I'm mean really good, rock star good, avatar good, so-nailed-it good - the seeking started again and new set of questions arose.

And the new answers said "blow up all the questions".

Since I'd already blown up all the answers several times, I wasn't too freaked out by the prospect of blowing up all the questions.

Of course, being a genuinely clueless seeker, I had no way of knowing.

So, I started blowing up all the questions. And as each successive round of munitions went off, the edifices of my certainty, security and wisdom crumbled.

It was too late to turn back. I had blown up so many questions that I couldn't ever go back.

I kept setting charges until there were no more questions to answer.

In the ensuing silence, cleaning up the wreckage of my earlier seeking, I wept as I swept.

I wept for all those shiny answers to familiar questions that had seemed to be the truth. I swept away the comfortable cave of knowing and let go of all that righteous, deep throated wisdom.

Now a refugee, nomadic and untethered, a seeker adrift without answers and all the questions in ruins.

Ahead, a tiny flash, barely a glimmer, a long way off, at the edge of my awareness, hardly visible in the distance.

A little question I'd missed rises alone and peeks out on the horizon.

Are questions the answer?

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