Ever find yourself lost without being lost? That strange longing within your breast that aches and pines for something that you cannot find because you don't know what it is. Your heart desires it yet you cannot grasp it, you don't even know its name. It's a queer kind of pain, a thing that eats away at you slowly, and the kind of misery it afflicts upon you worsens when you realize you don't know how to rid yourself of it. The cure is unknown to you, yet you know how to cure it. You must find that thing that you desire so strongly, that you need, but first you must find its name. For the most part, finding the name is all you really need. Calling out for it, invoking it, seems to rid your body and mind of that ache before you even find it. So how do you find its name? Is it within you? Can you merely ponder over it and hope the name comes afloat in the great sea of your mind? Can you pray and hope to be given the answer? How? Perhaps a mere question can solve it. Have you ever asked yourself a question? A serious question, not something that you know has no answer. Sometimes you know the solution, it could be within you, waiting for you to release it by posing yourself a simple question. So do you hunt for the answer, or the question? Do questions move us forward, or answers? We only find answers because questions provide us with the maps. Which matters more? Certainly an unanswerable question can move someone, it can influence and motivate legions of people into searching, hunting, and striving until they achieve. Does an answer bring about the end of the quest, or does it serve only to create more questions?
I am lost. Before me stands an insurmountable wall with a smirk painted upon its surface. It grins and mocks me, taunting me with its silence. It knows I'm powerless and its knowing of that fact serves only to increase its jesting. Everyday it grows higher so that its tip grazes the fluffy underbellies of clouds and pierces the great blue sea we call the sky. Sometimes I fear it will tear whatever is holding up that celestial ocean and flood my world. I'm afraid. I do not know, I cannot know until I know what to ask. To simply ask what is missing is too general. I find no answers when I ask that, it only breeds more questions that lead to more questions. Perhaps it's forming a trail for me so that I may follow it and finally find the key, the ladder that will aid me in climbing the wall, a hammer so I may reduce the blasted thing to rubble, a shovel so that I may burrow beneath it and come up on the other side. Yet the questions lead to more and more questions. I cannot seem to find an end to them and I find myself done with the questions once an uncomfortable one happens to arise. Perhaps my own cowardice is hindering me from finding the solution to my pain. Sadly enough, I know all the answers to the personal questions, they are the easiest of all, yet I do not want to accept them. I exile the dreaded answers to the abyss of my mind, forcing them to wander forever in its vast darkness. I fear them and my fear drains their power so that I can knock them down when they finally rise up. Someday I may find the strength to accept my answers, to turn them into allies, into something that will rid me of the wall and send me on my way once more.
The easiest thing in the world is to look at your own reflection while the hardest thing in the world is to ask it a question.
Do I stay lost and empty? Cowing beneath the shadow of an ever-growing wall that constantly mocks me? Do I plant my feet firmly in the ground and never move again? Or do I accept myself and conquer the wall? Do I forgive the answers and summon them home so that they can become part of me again? One will leave me empty yet proud while the other will fill me up but sadden me by forcing myself to look at my darker half.
I know the answer to that. Do I send it away or not?
Gorbachev, tear down this wall!
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