Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Lately I'm finding I'm worrying more about the "Whys" of life. I put this down to the aging process and the realisation that if I don't get the answers soon to a number of fundamental questions I never will.
You know how it is. In your youth you're struck by a fundamental question but, unless you're a Wittgenstein or a Kierkegaard, you put it to one side, thinking I've got plenty of time to suss that out, now for the important stuff - "And your name is?".
Well those golden days, sipping nectar and running with the nymphs, are long past returning and the sky is pressing down. Urgent questions need answering.
I'm not talking about the ineffable, unanswerable, unformulated "Whys" such as "Why Cheryl Cole? Why only now has she discovered America?". "Why is sex so funny?" My questions are much simpler.
Why I stopped believing in God on July 16th 1969. Or more importantly why God stopped believing in me.
Why it's taken my whole adulthood (or 40 years of it) to discover the child inside of me.
Why I smile whenever I think of my wife.
Why when looking in the mirror I see a stranger who is worryingly familiar.
Why I damn people I don't know.
Why I don't explode when thinking about the majesty of it all. You, me, our cats, and the stunning complexity of everything.
Why I'm here and how it is I'm able to imagine me here.
I need answers, not because I'm desperate for solutions, but because that's what makes me me. Questioning, always questioning.
We mustn't stop. It's our salvation and genius.