If you articulate your question well enough, you’re almost close to the answer. Its my life’s motto. That’s a silly stretch of imagination. It’s a foundation made of rickety bricks on which my entire existence rests. A foundation so weak, that it’s almost ready to collapse.
I remember being asked once “what do you expect out of this life”. In a flurry, I answered with much unwanted fuss “I want to look around and wonder, and have my questions answered satisfactorily”. The person beamed at me, either because he thought it was the polite thing to do, or because he knew I meant it. I did mean it. Look around, I did.Be amazed, I was. How did it all come about, I asked. The answer “somehow” was generally satisfaction enough. In a slightly more contemplative mood I might have answered “ there has to be a reason”. Every time I say that, I suppose another brick somewhere gets cemented and stays in place. It would make sense if that brick was right at the bottom. It would lend itself to the stability of everything above it. It’s the one that’s right on top that gets cemented with another brick. So much so, that it becomes harder to get to the one at the bottom.
Then come the winds of questions, threatening to bring along with it a white barren answerless winter. From nothing else but a sense of desperation some more questions are answered. Concrete is broken and badly patched up. The wall’s never smooth. The floor’s never steady. Only cracks in the walls serve as windows to anything, because you’re quite confused as to what to focus on. You go in that badly built place and try and take refuge in it. You go in there and ask, “how did it all come about” and answer knowingly “ I built it”. You come out and look at the vast expanse of the bright blue sky and ask “how did it all come about” and answer, more confidently this time “somehow”.
Ignorance is bliss. Clearly.