In the philosophical Serengeti, questions are the savage beasts that roam the grasslands of our consciousness. One question reigns as the true predator — Why. It silently stalks from the shadows, rending its quarry with sheer savagery. No amount of intellectual cunning or moral fortitude can hunt and conquer this elusive beast. It cannot be captured nor domesticated.

Why does a young mother succumb to cancer, leaving a husband and young children? Why does the swindler succeed in his schemes, stripping innocent people of their life savings? Why is one child born healthy while another begins a lifetime of chronic pain and challenge? Why is a person thriving and vibrant one day only to be cut down the next like a tree in a field?

Why? We cry the question into the dark, searching for motive and meaning. And occasionally we hear a rustle and glimpse the reflection of eyes from the shadowy brush. And then it’s gone. It yields no ease for the pain, no salve for the sorrow. Any intellectual answers it leaves are like scat dropped upon the dry ground.

Only through experience do we learn that when we ask “Why?” we are pursuing the wrong game.

Photo taken with a Nikon D40x in Crestline, CA. Post in Capture NX2.

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