I Don't Know I Do Know

It’s hard not to feel that things are fated. 

Shoreless and carried only by the tide.

That so much is actually out of our hands.

I just finished Junot Diaz’s piece and it’s so heartbreaking to think that he’ll never be right; to think that the actions upon an eight year old will damage him until he’s 48.

Is it minimizing to ask about the proximate and ultimate causes of sexual abuse? Is that question mechanical and avoiding the pain and the suffering – missing the point?

I don’t know.

Can we end or even curb sexual abuse if we don’t ask about proximate and ultimate causes?

I don’t know.

Why are some traumatized by poverty and alcoholic parents and abusive fathers and others not?

I don’t know.

It’s these kinds of essays that really make you wonder why it isn’t more people: suffering, living tragic lives, spreading pain while trying to cope, recover...live.

I do know I don’t want to be afraid to ask questions. That is a Rubicon that, just trying to cross, renders both shores untouchable.