A three year old child, full of wonder and;


How adorable..,

They can hardly talk, but they have questions.., need some explanation.

How hard can that be?

Those big eyes.., draw you in.

This isn’t Chinese Algebra; this is answering the questions of a three year old.., they don’t know, anything.., can barely dress themselves.

But shit gets flipped; you soon learn that every answer; and that means, every answer, within the reach of reason; is followed by a question, and another question..,

And the number one question asked, repeatedly asked, is – Why?

The number two is – But why?

Closely followed by – Why not?

Why is this that.., Why is that, this.., You try to keep up but begin to weary; then it gets twisted.., weird and wicked.

The “Why’s?” take you down; stripping-away pomp-and-circumstance to expose hear-say heresy; level-by-level, dragging you closer and closer to the rock-solid foundation of Truth and Consequence - clean of supposition.., you’re no longer addressing initial concerns; like, why do birds fly or why is water wet; but now battling abstract building blocks rocking out of rhythm.., questioning even the existence of a blue sky and clean running water.

And like a carved-in-stone natural law, established before, before; the only answer; and that means, the only answer; of all possible combination of words; Shakespeare, Joyce, Crowley.., none could arrange this triad, this omnipotent trinity of words, more precisely than divine intervention; the key - the thought before thoughts - the only answer; found in three simple words like an enchanted saying to save you from a descent into madness; is..,

I. Don’t. Know.

A magical spell to quiet all questions, instantly..,

“I don’t know.”

An inevitable response, to an obvious ending..,

“I don’t know.”

Seasoned players ditch the ego fast..,

“I don’t know.”

They’ve; too many times already; stood trembling on the edge; unable to defy the dread and fear of failure. To look into the face of such pure innocence, the face with rosy cheeks and drooling lips full of expectation. The care-takers that carefully considered knew how this would end.., will always end…, will/must disappoint.

While the careless and conceited, those boasting with authority, believe what they are sold; that they can resolve the wonder of reality - for pennies on the dollar; are stubborn beyond restraint.., blind beyond their belief.., arrogantly steadfast in their..,

“But Why; Why; Why...,”

Will too.., Eventually break-down and respond by crying-out in surrender;


You’re burnt and been dismissed; the young pre-schooler, no longer interested or even listening.., picks its nose and fouls its pants.

But most won’t allow themselves to recognize the most terrifying of revelation.., but to over-compensate.., because as you dove deep, driven by the “Why?”; you fell through the cracks in understanding and your reality came tumblin’ down.., because what you know; as you know; is all built on..,

I. Don’t. Know.


© 2018 by Stephen Ian McNaught