Questioning the Questions

I have always been a questioner. How does toothpaste get into the tube? Who invented shampoo? If God created everything, who or what created God? How long is forever? Why does sadness hurt physically? What will I experience when my spirit leaves my body? If the universe is a circle then if I go far enough toward Heaven won't I end up going toward Hell? Or vice versa? If I don't believe in Heaven or Hell what keeps me accountable on my spiritual path? How much wood, would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Beautiful, wonder-filled, delicious questions.

Questions make me push the parameters of the moment and consider answers ranging from the sacred to the mundane. Questions play with my brain the way champagne bubbles tickle my nose. Searching the answers leads me to thoughts, places, actions I may not have otherwise considered exploring. Questions are like snake tongues darting out ahead of the body to taste what's coming. (and checking in two directions at once by the way.) Or, like soapy bubbles released from a wand, tumbling waywardly, and rocking with a rainbow reflection of all the directions of my surroundings. Theologians have challenged me to 'live the questions'. There was a time I nodded knowingly and with absolute confidence that I understood what that meant. Lately, I am less certain about what I absolutely know. The King of Siam (The King and I) was clear about that.

Along the way I discovered some questions had edges to them like serrated knives cutting instead of inviting me on a journey of discovery. Questions like, "Who do you think you are?" Or, "Are you stupid or what?" (I always thought I was the or what, whatever that meant.) Questions like "What makes you think you're so smart?, "Can't you do anything right?, "Why do you ask so many questions?" All asked to intimidate, humiliate, pour out negative energy on a flame of potential. These are not just questions asked of children, as they may have originally sounded. Even in this second third of my life, I've been asked these questions. They knock that bubble right out of the air, put a sting into the champagne's tickle, they have expelled the 'delish' right out of delicious. These questioners were not enjoying the open window on a new thought. They were slamming the window shut while defending their own impatience, ignorance, perceived power, or, I don't know, just being mean perhaps.

Which raises more questions. How much hate or anger does it require to pound another personality into oblivion? How long does it take the pounded one to pop out the dents and recover? How does the powerful feeling 'feel' when stolen from another through intimidation? What would happen to that same power if it were used with uplifting words and actions? Should we ever reach an age when we're too old to ask questions? If there is a next life, may we ask questions there? Is there always an 'answer' to every question? What does life ask of me? What do I ask of life? What should I have for lunch today?