The Universe Contains A ‘Why’

blackholeOut here on the silent fringes of reality, where I lurk in the passage between night and morning, those few slippery moments when time doesn’t exist. Here, I can reflect.

I find myself often stumbling over the same old question, ‘why?’

And ‘why’ is such a useless question, why only matters to Scientists and Philosophers. Why has no use in the real world. why does the sun shine? It doesn’t matter; the sun shines, and will continue to do so whether I understand it or not; will continue to do so despite my constant asking of why.

Why are we here? It doesn’t matter, we are here.

I often wonder if this one word is what separates humans from animals. This ability to ask a meaningless question. I doubt that my cat questions the purpose of her existence.

Wrapped in the toils of daily survival; work, sleep, eat; hunt, provide, recharge; there is no time for such Metaphysical wonderings, no extra energies for such trivial pursuits.

But here, in the quiet night, in the reflective meditations that float just above the surface of dreaming, the question arises, staring us in the face, like a gleaming, grinning intruder unexpectantly appearing out of the darkness.

So therefore, it must have a purpose. Simply by the fact that it is there, that it exists. The universe contains a why. Why?

Maybe our entire existence is a question. Maybe we are here to ask that question, maybe we are that question. The question.

I light a cigarette and let my thoughts flow out and mingle with the rising smoke. Watch out the window as the first few slices of sunlight begin to break through the cover of black. I wonder about my past, my memories, my paths so far, and their possible meanings.

Doing my best to leave the silence undisrupted, a few ripples of sound disturb the moment and dissipate away. In the quiet wake, once more I wonder. smooth black reflection. Why?

I don’t pretend to have any answers, after all, I am merely a question.

©Robert Emmett McWhorter

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