Why we ask why

We hurl the question "why" when we do not like what is happening.
When we don’t want to feel what we have to feel.

Why this injustice? Why this pain?
We plead with anguish.
Why did my mother abuse me?
Why did my father disappear?
Why did my loved one betray me?
Why was I gaslit by my family?
Why is my life a barren wasteland?
Why was my love never reciprocated, by anyone?
But would knowing "why" suture the holes in our souls? Would the answer offer the solace we need?

Sometimes, behind a "why" is a "why me?"
It might have been an itch to gamble, to see if one can be excused away from the brutal lottery of existence. The secret fantasy is that there is a wheel of fortune where only the jackpots exist.
But more often than not, it is more than a "woe is me."

More often than not, "why" is not a genuine inquiry, but a primal scream against the absurdity of life.
The absurdity of life lies in its randomness, its uncaring indifference, its utter unpredictability.
In these moments of truth, all religious convictions fall apart— this ‘religion’ includes the ones we have in modernity and science, of humankind’s imminent mastery over fate and sorrow.
Whatever structure and ground we had held onto, thinking we have control—crumbles into pieces.

When we ask "why," we are not really wanting to know why.
We are, in essence, protesting to the universe.
It is a refusal to grieve, a turning away from grief, a denial of our powerlessness.
It is a desperate, defiant "I do not consent!" hurled into the face of fate.

In a way, it is our divine life force—the energy might have been misdirected, but having the energy to ask "why" is better than not.
We are, at that moment, refusing to surrender to the crushing weight of grief, to drown in the depths of despair. We are rejecting the bitter pill of our powerlessness against the relentless current of time and chance. To ask "why" is to refuse to be a victim of the capricious universe.
It is our zest for life, our life energy manifesting itself in a powerful storm.
It is our rage, our beautiful rage,

Even if we do get anywhere with our "why," we may find ourselves lost in a loop of intellectual bypassing.We dissect, analyze, and rationalize, building elaborate mental fortresses to keep the raw, visceral truth of our emotional pain at bay.
We run away from our hurting souls into our brains.
We pretend we have no feelings but are a productive analyzing machine here to "figure things out."

Knowing all this, how do we navigate the raw, visceral cry of "why"? We must see it for what it is— not a true question, but a howl of pain, a desperate plea for love from the only place that can truly offer it: ourselves.

We must turn towards, not against the pain of our soul and the river of feelings.
We must not pretend that they do not exist and run into intellectual bypassing.
We must remember how small we are under the infinite expanse of time and space and find comfort, not defeat in that.
We can be delightful stardust that flows with where the moon wants us to go, not one to try and direct it back.
Maybe it is in the very grief over our powerlessness that we tried to run away from that we find the balm we need.

🥀