Surprises

Sometimes in life, things appear so convoluted and confusing, so completely alien, that no matter how hard you try, you cannot make sense of it, cannot rotate the rubik cube of it, cannot unmaze the topiary of it. Non sequiturs are one thing, but that thing of which I speak is way beyond the boundaries of normal, random intrusion. When it happens, you are forced to pause in disbelief, pinch yourself awake from a nightmare that you didn't even know you were dreaming, and wonder if perhaps you have stroked out and lost all ability to reason, or comprehend. You become momentarily paralyzed, but eternally impaired. It is only through the reluctant realization that it has actually occurred that you are able to inhale; have an in-with-the-good-air, out-with-the-bad-air resurrection.

These moments can appear in many different forms and have many different causes, but they share certain universal qualities. They definitely take your breath away, like an out-of-nowhere slap in the face, or a who-am-I, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing plummet of the pedestal of self reliance, or a why-is-this-woman-causing-me-to-behave-like-a-complete-moron epiphany.
These moments will also cause you to question the lucidity of of your conscious mindset, the theoretical rationality once held in your core belief system. They question your conviction that you can believe what you see, and that what you see is not altered by your observance. They make you wonder if your optic nerve is just mocking you, but these moments are fleeting, never allowing you a firm grip on your bearings.

But most importantly, these moments always have a purpose, a gift even, but it is shrouded in a secret wound up tighter than the core of a baseball. Somehow, I know that these moments don't exist to reveal their purpose, but to cause us to seek revelation. The ultimate enigma--a shrouded secret, bearing a gift, but resisting discovery, yet setting us on a path toward discovery.

I had such a moment last evening. I was stunned, paralyzed, empty minded. I don't know where it will guide me, and I don't know what I will find, perhaps nothing. But I do know that it has taken up residence in my subconscious, set on a foundation sturdier than Atlas' shoulders. I will share it with you, although I know you can offer no guidance. It was, and is, my moment alone. I am almost certain it occurred, almost positive I saw it, a subtitle, golden yellow, emblazoned across a screen of an unknown Africa, at least unknown to me; a question which, at least for now, offers no hint of an answer, really offers no possibility of solution. But it was asked, clear and bold across the TV screen,

"Mother, will you rub some ochre on the calabash?"