The Meaning of Life

What is the meaning of Life? Perhaps it is 42, like the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says. In that case, I suspect we have been asking the wrong question.

In our church, we had the answer to those important questions at a very early age. We might be initiated into the mystery of Holy Communion at the age of 8.  Before then, we knew the answers to the three most important questions in the universe:

1. Who made me? (God made me.)

2. Why did God make me? (God made me to serve Him.)

3. How can I serve God? (By following the dictates of the Church.)

Even at my young age, I had follow-up questions. Like, How can I serve God, when he has everything and I have nothing?  And, What if the Church tells me to do something that hurts someone else?

I was a thoughtful child, but overawed by authority and I had a paralyzing fear of disapproval. So instead of clearing these things up before I was confirmed and made a Soldier of God, I snuck off to the library to read about the history of religion. I learned that there are as many religions as there are faces of God (or vice versa).

The variety and number spread before me only made me lose my appetite for the search. There were many answers to my question, But I didn't know enough about myself to become emotionally involved in the quest for meaning. It was many many years before I found my steps leading along the path to spiritual understanding. I made money, I brought up a daughter, and I learned new skills and found tools to help me round out my life. I learned how to be more of a person, but I began once again to question my purpose.

I was living selfishly, shallowly, taking and filtering and hoarding my experiences. I grew a thick shell to prevent anything from hurting me. Unfortunately, from inside that shell, I couldn't feel anybody else. I forced myself to peep out occasionally, first one antenna, then an eye. But if anyone saw the real me, I retracted fast, back into my shell.

For someone who is curious, active, imaginative, creative, and compassionate, this was prison. Inside my cell, I wrote my questions, and my theories. I filled notebook after notebook with wanderings, thoughtlings, idealets, doodles and desperation. Where is my tongue? I have a need to speak! Where are my words? The feelings run high and fast and powerful to the brink...crashing and falling in exhaustion and frustration.

We want to share, you and I. We have words, and ideas, and thoughts and feelings that knowing, I can help you, you can help me, we can be amused, amazed, and tickled at the foibles of Fate.

What is the meaning of Life? We are not alone here.