Monk-key Musings

Anirudh Belle

This craving I sense is the essence of why I am. I thrive on my curiosity. It keeps me going, stops me from rotting.

Dressed in a metaphor, a question is like something sexual. It is magical… until we wake to the flat summit of an orgasm.

An answer is a dead end. The quest in a question speaks much more than the mute halt of an answer.

An answer, perhaps, is a tiny oasis in the path of my trek. Though I will pleasure in it, I shall leap off it like a sky-seeking leaf lifting off a rippled surface, happily construing pleasure for pressure.

And when I achieve The Final Answer, Its event shall hold no more questions; in the answer of this question-less realm, I shall find my rest.

 

[Featured Image: Theodor Kittelsen’s  Soria Moria  from Norske Folkeeventyr]

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