The Morning After the "Why?" Question

[thoughts from ~burning woman~ by Sha'Tara]

It was still the same "Why?" question that morning. It had nothing to do
with the weather, which, as weather will, was what it usually is. The
weather doesn't ask "Why?" nor does it answer the question. It had nothingto do with the day, which was a Monday, and a Holiday. It had nothing to dowith a particular frame of mind, because if you have ever paid attention toyour mind, its main focus is always on the "Why?" question. If it isn't, ifthe "Why?" question has been answered to your satisfaction, or if it hasn't come up yet, then perhaps that's the problem right there, though you would not be aware there is any kind of problem. No, it had nothing to do with anything outside the Ordinary, whatever the Ordinary might be on a particular Monday that happens to be a Holiday. It was just there, in itsusual place, a familiarly uncomfortable place. It was like that piece ofcorn that gets stuck between your teeth and won't dislodge, no matter howmuch you prod it with your tongue.

"Why?" If you say it out loud, it might make you jump. Someone might come byand say, "Why not?" But as you may know, if you've ever paid attention toyour mind, that's no answer at all because it's not a "Why what?" kind of question. It's just "Why?"

There is a hill in the center of town, not terribly prepossessing as hills
go, but symbolic of Power. On that hill there is a Big House - among other
Big Houses, and I'm tempted to add, Ostentatiously Big Houses - and in that Big House lives the Preacher. The Church, that once had a steeple, is not too far away, and from the Big House the Preacher can see the front door of the Church. And he can see that place over the entrance where the steeple used to be. Every morning, the Preacher looks there, and satisfied the steeple has not returned, returns to his paper and his television for the latest Stock Exchange results. The front door of the Church is locked and alarmed - not that there are any valuables in that building, but because some homeless people had once wandered in that Holy of Holies seeking refuge from the weather: the rain, wind, wet and cold. Fortunately their dirty, wet attire did not inflict any permanent damage upon the finish on the benches and they were promptly evicted. Which is as it should be: the Church'spurpose is to be there for its paying membership, not the detritus of a"Why?" society. God, after all, looks after those who look after Him.

That steeple thing bother you? It's all in the "Why?" question. While the
"Why?" question has no answer, explanations are sometimes useful, sometimes necessary. They won't answer the question, but they can be entertaining, as long as you remember they are just that. Thus do I come to the "steeple on - steeple off" explanation: once the Church belonged to a different belief group that prided itself on the fact it was old and solid, universal and permanent. There were bells in the steeple, and these rang on Sunday, and on any Monday that was a Holiday also. In those days, the people felt warm, secure, certain, at the sound of the bells. The bells said it better than any other way; rang it loud and clear: God (clang!) Is In His Heaven (clang, bang!) And All Is Well (clang, dang!) With The World (clang, dang, dong!). Indeed.

It is said that pride goeth before the fall. I thought it was summer, but be
that as it may, times change and there came a day when the old group lost
its power over the town; when a new, dynamic, richer denomination swept in on the day following the election of a new Town Council. Following the
laying of the foundation for a new Bank. Following the grand opening of the new Town Mall which followed the opening of the Lumber Mill and Plywood Manufacturing Plant down by the river. There was a grand party. The Mayor opened his mouth to lie for twenty minutes, then the Preacher invoked the God of Profit and the Goddess of Grace. The people yawned, clapped dutifullyand fell upon the victuals while children laughed, dogs barked and the moon rose on cue behind the fireworks, casting its unseen pall upon the clear-cuts.

Black and white dominos fell to make room for a colourful house of cards
deftly propped up with higher taxes, that being as it should be. The
steeple, that old phallic symbol pointed at God, was unceremoniously struck down, its bells and balls melted, and the Presiding Preacher, a man of great renown from down south and affecting that twangy proper drawl, was offered his own Big House on the Hill if he would accept taking charge of the town's spiritual well-being. There was whining and wincing at the Salary he demanded, but reason prevailed, as reason always must, and he was Installed, symbolic Grand Master, Enchanter and Wizard whose credentials stated he was licensed to answer the "Why?" question for any who would take a dip in his Holy Dunking Tank.

There are many, many answers to the "Why?" question. But as you must realizeby now, none of them can ever be the right answer. Yet, I can assure you, there is an answer. The "Why?" question, like the sun, is a blinding thing. If you look directly at it, you will never see anything: you will go blind with possibilities. But if you approach it slowly, carefully, look obliquely, past all the answers that throw themselves at you to bog you down before you can do any damage to the System, you will begin to see Inside. In fact, you will slip down the Rabbit Hole and become The Insider.

If you would find the answer to the "Why?" question, you must first find
your way to its center, then look outward. From here, your eyes open and you can see through the House of Cards. But of course, knowing carries its own responsibilities and a new kind of discomfort automatically ensues.

Perhaps a better bet is not pursuing the "Why?" question. Continue to pay
and to await the next Holiday, the next Town Barbecue, the next Fireworks
Show. You're already paying the higher taxes; already deeper in debt than
you ever thought possible; what's twenty minutes of Mayoral BS and five
minutes of Prayer?

Free food will be served.