Stream -- Eventually you have to ask...

Note: This is a stream of consciousness piece written in one session and printed with minimal revisions.

Eventually you have to ask why. The problem with it is that the most obvious answers are usually the most unsatisfying. Sometimes, the answer you get is not the answer you want. One of the most important questions is what hand you play in it.

Call me Pythagoras or some other Greek-sounding philosopher's name. I ask questions and sometimes I answer them. When it gets right down to it, I probably don't do anything important. In fact, my vocation - and that's what I've discovered it is - is practically useless, but I could not live without it. Better yet, I could not function otherwise without indulging in the exploration of these, deep questions.

I ask questions. Why... am I in pain? ... am I confined? ... can't I depend on certain people? ... must I depend on certain other people? ... do I have to wait? ... do I suffer? And then I ask more, different questions. Why... do I love the persons I love? ... would I suffer to see them happy? ... are my passions both the best and worst things for me? Perhaps I'm really asking, "Is there a why?"

It's rainy today. I ponder these eternal questions as I sit at my picture window in my study. The sky is incredibly gray and off in the distance there is the sense of rain. A lush, green field stretches out before me, reaching all the way to that sense of rain. Even as I struggle with a dark day, occasionally a drop of fresh rainwater slashes in front of my eyes.

There have been many attempts at answers over the millennia. A vengeful god, nothing is real, it's an illusion, the world is innately bad, all experience is subjective, objective nature is harsh and cold, karma, God is dead, God has a plan; each one, no matter how true or untrue, contributes to the universal mystery. While I know that I certainly could be wrong, I am also reminded by the fact that every great thinker was still just a human being. I've got my philosophy.

There is a flash of lightning to the east. Suddenly, I hear the trotting of a horse. It comes up along the road alone just in front of my window, before the green field. This horse is jet black and yet it is a heavy contrast to the darkened sky. This horse is alive. It has a long tail and appears finely groomed. The finest. Its most obvious feature strikes me last. The horse is wearing a saddle, but it is strange. It looks handcrafted and extremely old, like the horse has been carrying its rider for many years. But the animal is healthy and energetic, with no sign of fatigue. It moves the same as it would have in its youth.

Then, the horse makes eye contact with me, peering in through my window. It is a wise horse. It is as if the dark eyes are shielding me from a vibrant light within. It is almost indescribable. The horse turns slightly, shifting my focus back to its saddle. The wear and tear is obvious. I'm struck by the possibility that this horse has seen its fair share of struggle. I pray for the horse, and I hope that somehow, perhaps telepathicly, it can understand me pleading with it to gallop down the road, away from this place.

There is another flash of lightning, this time off to the west. To my shock, the horse turns around and happily trots back in the direction it came. I stand up and crane my neck so I can get one last glimpse. How could it do that? Understanding, in this case, is beyond me. The horse stops. It gives me one last look, turns and readies itself, and breaks into a gallop. Quickly, it is back down the road and out of sight. I begin to think again about my questions.