You go to bed; wake up; have breakfast; feed the pet; go to work. There you fiddle around a bit, and then go home. Supper, perhaps TV or a movie, and it’s beddy-bye again. Do not rinse. Repeat.

Why?

Maybe you don’t really care. Maybe the merry-go-round life you lead is still a gas or, alas, just slightly amusing or challenging or some other whatchamacallit. Maybe you’re the opposite of that TV detective Monk, so you don’t see any deep connection between apparently unrelated things and events.

But, stuff doesn’t happen randomly. So, it does have a “why?” even if it’s not “yours.” See, all those rocks and billiard balls and oceans and breezes and sports and three-alarm fires are nothing but a cover story. That cover story has much more to do with you than you might be wont to admit.

I mean, it’s so easy to be sucked into the glamorous, sensual hoedown as you strut and fret through your waking dream. That sucking sound you hear is you lending your energy to the gala show. Fiddle-faddle befuddled fandango finagles your fancy and you fully flop for it, besotted floozies and all. You’re left gaga. Drawn to this, repulsed by that, you careen about your field; now courted like a debutante, now worthy only of a mention in a newspaper’s way-back pages. The ever-present din snicker-snacks you. Electrons on a hot date with protons and other stuff make the traffic pouring through your pores exhale exhausting, vaporous glut.

Outer world experience is either Soul Artfully Real or the surface saturated illusion of the previous paragraph. The former is Great Service, which allows infinity to “grow,” to enjoy singing harmonized possibility into exquisitely resolved chords. The latter wastes your precious time on a multitude of “isms” and quandaries.

Existentialists believe life is totally meaningless, just because the meaning lies beyond the ability of their mechanical brains to grasp it. But, the meaning is there. It sits complacently in the “Why?” mocking the meaninglessness mongers and saturating the Lonely Ones with inexplicable Presence. So don’t just laze about in Potemkin Villages of streets lined in cardboard, existential, cutout cop outs. Join that Truman guy[1] breaking through artifice into an ever new Life, which harmonizes Why? with I AM.

[1] “The Truman Show” is a film, starring Jim Carrey, which portrays a man whose entire life, from birth to his present time, was a worldwide televised event, completely scripted and directed by others. He thinks his life is actual, but he eventually learns the truth, and punches through the stage set backdrop to win his freedom. Hooray!