Sometimes it’s really hard to not think about the question “why”. It lingers in the dusty cupboard in the back room of all of our minds. Why?
Why am I here? Why are you here? Why? And there are no answers, only the whimsical theories of mysterious men.
Spirituality, I find, is often hard to comprehend. Why is one spirituality deemed better over another? Why is spirituality deemed wrong if it is not the same as our own? Why?
Why is my spirituality better? Why is yours? Why? And there are no answers, just the closed-minded theories of those unwilling to admit that they ask why too.
Everything is deemed destiny by few. Some others do not agree. Why would each of our lives have a purpose? Why is it not just a big soup of nonsense? And if it is, why does it exist? Why?
Why is my life important? Why do you take part in it? And there are no answers, just bangle-wearing women with foggy crystal balls and tarot cards.
And who really knows if there’s a god? Who really cares? And who really knows how far science can go? Who?
Maybe nothing I see is here and maybe there is no purpose. If that is so then why the need for survival? Why the fight? Why the passion, the fear, the dreams? Why the music and the screams? Why do I run, and why do I seek, the answers to why, oh why, oh why?