The universe doesn’t owe us an explanation, but that hasn’t stopped me from staring in awe as questions fall out of my open mouth.
God, why did you let all this happen but not that?
Why do we have free will?
How big is the universe?
Why was I born?
Why can’t you physically wrap your arms around me and silence my uninvited thoughts when I’m terrified?
Does every person born have equal opportunity to express or achieve divinely inherited Vastly Infinite Possibilities?
Is there life on other planets? If so, can we be pen pals?
Is the whole point of the human experience to overcome childhood trauma and, is all that intended to be part of some karmic recycling program where our chakras are supposed to process negative energy into positive energy through the vessels of our bodies and somehow activate cosmic peace?
Are you working on some kind of ‘existence update’ where the next version won’t involve so much abuse, violence, disease, injustice and general chaos or will it be the same program but in a new case?
If love is the essence of our divine truth, why are we so bad at it?
Am I strong or scared and how can I ever truly discern the difference?
Do you hear me when I tell you a thousand times how much I love you?
Is it immoral or lame to want a personal chef?
Why do we have to lose elasticity as we gain wisdom?
Do you like Pop Tarts? If so, toasted with butter or just plain, right out of the foil? (You know how I feel about butter)
Must we patiently watch for signs, decode dreams or listen for the whispers of angels in order to know which way to go or can we just invite you to tea?
Do countries have developmental ages? If so, who and where are their parents? (Cause some countries are acting like toddlers in serious need of a time out.)
What sort of mood where you in when you created the wonders of the world?
What sort of mood were you in when you created Woonsocket?
Recently, I witnessed a room flooded with phosphorescence or some kind of energetic particles. Was that you? If not, can you tell us what it means?
Rather than arrogantly wait for incomprehensible answers, or attempt, as I’ve always done, to try, and fail, to control the unfolding of life, I surrender all to you.
“She asked God, without fear, if he really believed that people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles and mortifications; and asking over and over she was stirring up her own confusion and she felt irrepressible desires to let herself go and scamper about like a foreigner and allow herself at last an instant of rebellion, that instant yearned for so many times and so many times postponed, putting her resignation aside and shitting on everything once and for all and drawing out of her heart the infinite stacks of bad words that she had been forced to swallow over a century of conformity.”-Gabriel Garcia Marquez, 100 Years of Solitude
“…she had found peace in that house where memories materialized through the strength of implacable evocation and walked like human beings through the cloistered rooms.”-Gabriel Garcia Marquez, 100 Years of Solitude