Good Question

It came into him life, it went out of him truth. It could have been otherwise. The life, his life was a given. without his life he would never have been born. But he was. He took in the life he was born into. He could have spat it out. He devoured it. He swallowed it all. The pain and the comfort. The joy and the sorrow. He treated all to his table. He pulled up a chair and dined with al of life. It was a long impossible supper. He should not have lived. That first little connection to all his source of sustenance was immediately severed. From the beginning, he lived at another's sacrifice. Not everyone had it so good. Sometimes life stops before it ever starts. Sometimes life never starts at all but the days keep rolling over and stamping their wear on the face of the living. When life first started coming out of him as truth, he could have been frightened. He could of been told "shush." Don't ask those questions. Shush, don't think those thoughts. Don't say that. Don't ever mention that again. Let's pretend it never happened. He could have gone along with the pretending, he could have made a game of it until it became an occupation, until he made his living at pretending. But no, he was remarkably unique. His mother said, "oh my son, what an interesting question. I wonder the same things sometimes. Sometimes I have so many questions I'm afraid of becoming one. But I'm not a question and you're not a question. You are good at asking. I don't know how to answer that and that's how I know it is a good question."