The only question

We wake. We always do so long as we live. Questions, that must be given answers, barrage us from our first moments of arousal till we return once more to the passivity of slumber. Most of these answers are mindlessly handled, done away without effort. There is really only one question that demands our full attention, one worthwhile question a day. The trouble is that this question is never the same as the day before, or it is and we just can't remember that it is. Or, a worse fate yet, the only true question of the day gets buried beneath the mindless questions, caught in the back log of day to day life, this is the worst thing that can happen. Once a person's true question is stuck beneath all that is mindless and day to day it loses it's color, it can not be differentiated from the other questions. Sooner than one expects that true idea seems nothing more than a fanciful dream or whimsical pondering amongst it's remedial daily brothers and sisters. It's absence does not go unnoticed entirely though. We start to search for something, not knowing what it is exactly. We've lost something, we know, but just can't remember what that something is. As though a favorite book has gone missing from the shelf and there is now only an empty space that holds a vague memory of being cherished. So we start looking forward to that cyclical slumber in which we can enjoy our dream, that was once a question, without shame or embarrassment.