May 13
The cucumber is bitter? Throw it away. Thorns on the path? Step aside. That is enough. Do not add: Why are there such things in the world?
Meditations VIII,50
Listening mode
The cucumber is bitter? Throw it away. Thorns on the path? Step aside. That is enough. Do not add: Why are there such things in the world?
A form comes back because a cross is in the wrong place. You correct it in two minutes. Afterwards the matter occupies you for another half hour: Who designs forms like this? Why does everything have to be so cumbersome?
These questions sound like thinking. But they have a peculiar property: they don't want an answer. If someone patiently explained to you which regulation lies behind the box, you would hardly feel relieved. You would more likely feel cheated of something. The question kept the annoyance open, and an answer would close it.
Not every why is built this way. Some are addressed to someone who can change something, and accept the risk of an uncomfortable reply. The other kind is addressed to no one. It prolongs the moment in which something happened to you, and turns a disruption into an attitude towards the world.
From the outside the two are hard to tell apart, and not always from the inside either. Sometimes you only notice when someone actually wants to give you the answer – and you grow impatient.
