The Simple Query

I cantered out of the gateway of my seven hour day and reflectingly cogitated to myself "My, I don't know what I am doing." So I decided on a decision to decide over all other decisions of the deciding past and hastely made path thereafter. So I jaunted down the streets of the plague infected lot towards an establishment wherein lived my compeer. At which time, past turns to present.

I rap on his door, though nothing I hear for quite some time inbetween. Then the portal swings backward heading towards infinity(or oblivion, which ever you prefer).

"How are you doing this fine and tender morn'?" I ask him with indifference.

"Morn'? Why it's afternoon."

"Well to me all time that's time at all is indeed the same in composition", I cite in reply.

"So what brings you to my establishment herein?"

"I'm not sure. I had a question or two."

"Ask I pray, and I'll try with my hearts intent, to answer fully and graciously."

"Well it's a simple query you see. I have a problem, what should I do?"

"Then why come to me? Find someone else to ask. There are problems here and abound and everywhere that's anywhere. I have a quantity of mine own, and thinking for me, is enough work as it is."

"Well thanks for your help. If it's help you call it." So I walk away pretensely fulfilled. Then voice my innermost feelings.

"My compeer of compassion, where are you now? You tell me you care, when illusions are what fit you best. You feed and you feed off of my good intent, and then when the tables are turned, you place them upright." So I reflect once more, and decide where to head next. I know, I'm off to the preacher. So I trot along down the long winding road of truth, until it splits, then I go the wrong way. I ring the church bell, but it's resonance stops quickly, and I wait for seconds on end. Then finally after no time at all, my pestiferous pillaging preacher reaches and opens the door.

"Hello father, how are you today? I thought I would pay you a visit."

"Why, my subject, I'm fine. Although sir, on the contrary, I'm not sure I know who you are."

"Well that's not important, for now I'll just question. I was wondering, could you help me out?"

"Well of course I could help you, but it wouldn't be my help, because I'm put here by the grace of my higher. So ask away and we'll see what you shall receive."

"Well it's a simple query you see. I have a problem, what should I do?"

"A query you say, how queer is this? Didn't you ask your God up above in the first?"

"Why of course my good father, but no answer did follow. So instead I'm turning to you."

"But I have no power in this matter at hand. If it's his will, let it be done. You may only get answer from him, when living life imperfectly. Wait, I know what will help. Tell me all you've done wrong, then soon you'll be recompensed."

"But kind sir, I don't follow, how can that be, if I killed more than thrice? I already know what my sins are, wouldn't the act of commission fit me best?"

"No, no, my lad, it's much simpler than that. Tell me all you've done wrong and we'll soon forgive and forget." "Thanks anyway, but I don't believe in this teaching. It just leads to this thing called reoccurence. So I'm going now to ask somebody else, to see if what they say might be better. But I'll see you on Sunday, to hear hypocritical preachings, and live to be condemned to hell."

So I walk out of the gate of the churchyard hereafter and ponder once again what to do. Oh my, what a thought. I know exactly who to ask. Onward to my parent's house.

The prolifigate progenitors of whom I am the progeny of sit straight on their TV bench. Eyes affixed in a stare, minds put on slow cruise control.

"Hello mother, hello father, once again, it is me. I've come back from my daily routine. So how are you folks this quaint and quiet night, why thank you, i am just fine."

"Why son, I'm glad you asked, we've been doing quite well. but you see, we've been waiting for thee."

"Waiting for me? Why, i'm quite surprised, and yet flattered, all at the same time. What could possibly behoove you, to ever wait for me?"

"Well son, don't ya see? We have much work for thee. I don't care if we can do it just fine ourselves. We're through, we've done quite enough, and it's high time you learned something about grief. Responsibility, we'll call it though, for your own sake."

"But mom, just a second, I have something to ask of you first."

"Well go right ahead, but be quick and be brief. If you keep asking, you'll never get to your work."

"Well it's a simple query you see. I have a problem, what should I do?"

"I don't have time for this, and neither do you, get to work right quick boy, or my fist will answer you."

So I work and I work until bleeding from within and then hastely make exit from my strife. Why don't they answer? It would take them no time at all. I guess they must love me much less than their wit. My last and final hope I'll turn to now. Now that I think, I should've turned their very first. So the Rorqual of Rumination is whom I send my pleas to, and then quickly receive answer with haste.

"10:30 p.m. would be best for your health."

My God, how simple was that? You see, the only question I had was "What time should I go to bed?" So in turning to my head, I was answered quite fast, and the answers I get from there, I hold deeper than the rest.

Copyright 1997 Rambeling Enterprises

Last Updated: 10/8/97

Since 10/8/97