I was searching.
I was exhausted and frayed and a little frantic.
I thought if I could just get moving, I could move toward some kind of answer, something to mollify at any rate, a little peace.
I was already cold and tired. I could not bear the thought of more cold.
I pulled on my coat anyway. I practically fled, pulling on my gloves as I went.
I charged, desperate for answers. I kept walking and walking, through my fatigue, searching, frenetic.
Nothing was working. Everything was dysfunctional.
So I asked.
As I barrelled along in the cold, I spoke out loud.
I can’t see them, but I know they are there, somehow.
They are there. Aren’t they?
I walked and I cried and I argued and I pled for help, and finally I sang.
It was the chant I learned oh so many years ago. I sang the chant as I rushed through the messy, snowed-up sidewalks. I could just begin to sense the edges of peace.
And then, suddenly, there it was.
The one voice in all this universe from whom I needed to hear right then.
And the dam loosed, not answers, but the warmth and the peace to find them.
Everything is a mystery, and nothing is a mystery.