FISHING FOR ANSWERS By David Allen There’s a man I always see standing at the end of the pier when I take my lunch walk. He holds a long pole and occasionally casts the line into the bay. There's no bait on the hook. The creel at his feet is empty. Almost as empty as the look on his face. His eyes are fixed on the horizon. One day I asked him what he hoped to catch. Without a glance at me, he pulled his line out of the water and cast it back with a slight groan. “I’m fishing for answers,” he said. “I tried books, schools, the streets, and even turned to poetry. Nothing.” I felt bad for interrupting his search. But I had one more question. “Answers to what?” I asked. “Everything…nothing,” he said. I walked on as he recast his line. His search tormented me. Was there really something there in the cold, blue waters of life? The answer to everything and nothing? The answer hit me like a slap to the face. The search is the answer. I bought a fishing rod yesterday. There’s plenty of room on the pier. Care to join us?
Type Dancing 