The Irony in the Answer

   Today I’ve made an attempt at a short story.
   There once was a man who’s name was Thomas. Thomas was obsessed with finding the answer to his deep inner thirst for “that” something more.
   So he would spend hours every day scavenging the sacred texts of every religion in the world. And all their various sub texts, and translations. At long last he closed the last book. But still without the answer.
   So he started again, went to work fully convinced that the answer would eventually appear. Now he begin to go through the writings of all the great atheists and agnostics, the questioning and heretical. But once again he found not the answer. So with a rabid hunger he submitted himself to numerous therapists and psychologists and all manner of tests, for now he reasoned, “The fault must be with me.” After a period of this torment though, he finally gave up.
   Dejected, he slunk home and flung himself onto the floor, weeping. For his years of study seemed to have been but a waste, and tomorrow, he would die. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. And as he slept, a dream came to him.
   In the dream he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and strewn about on the ground below were  huge sections of bark with words written in ink. The names of every one of the religions, books and ideas that he had studied. And then, a voice whispered to him and said, “These are all signs that point to me. I am in the real world. Every breath you breath, I am closer than that breath.”
   Immediately following this, Thomas woke up. He then got up, and became a janitor. For now He knew the answer.
   What if our desperate search for completeness is what is blocking us, from that? All the best.

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