Your Questions Are Pointless

On embracing the beauty of our shared, bizarre existence.

There are hundreds, no, thousands of lives that pass us by each and every day.

Some alone. Others in conversation. Some may even pass you a glance of acknowledgment. Could it be pity? Perhaps it is intrigue? For certain it is deliberate, even if done so with little self-awareness!

It may even be nothing!

But that’s the being. That’s the beauty! To live and never know! To be part of the shared uniqueness!

But who cares what was deliberate and what was not? You live! You are alive!

We are not here to understand, in fact, we have no reason to be here. Yet, we are. We are here until the moment we are not, which, for as important that day may be; the one in which this experience halts, has a date we shall never know.

How bizarre?

We spend our days questioning and answering, but must live in the knowledge that we will never answer, maybe even reliably question, that one “big” question.

It seems as though all of our questions must be rather pointless then? We, or maybe I, would argue that our need to understand all else comes from an acceptance that the only question we desire to answer, will forever go unanswered.

Maye a life of acceptance is in order then? A life of acknowledged existence, where life is lived and scrutinised? does that not sound freeing?

Questions, questions, questions.