Searching for the truth
Artis was searching. He was searching for the truth. He was seeking a reason to live, or something to live for.
He looked in all of his books, thinking maybe somebody had already found the answer and he wouldn’t have to look very far. He read Zen/zɛn/and the Art of Motorcycle/'motɚ'saɪkl/Maintenance/'mentənəns/, by Robert Pirsig. In the book, Mr. Pirsig talked about the thing that tied it all together being “Quality.” Quality was left undefined by Mr. Pirsig, but he said that Quality ran through all things, and that Quality was what we should all strive for, whether in fixing a motorcycle or making Tupperware/'tʌpəwεə/. Mr. Pirsig made very much sense to Artis, and the book taught Artis a great deal about life, but it seemed to Artis that leaving the core of your explanation undefined was a bit of a cop-out.
He kept reading, but he never found what he was looking for in books. Some books seemed close, like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but nothing anyone had written was the ultimate/'ʌltəmət/truth for Artis.
So he tried listening to music. Music seemed sort of spiritual /'spɪrɪtʃʊəl/; or, at least sometimes when he listened to it Artis got the momentary/'moməntɛri/feeling that the answer was close at hand. Unfortunately, as soon as the piano stopped playing, or the guitar stopped strumming/strʌm/, or John Lennon stopped telling him that all he needed was love, Artis found himself back where he started: with an empty feeling, a feeling that he would never find the truth. He kept trying though, listening to anything and everything he could get his hands on. But after countless hours of music, ranging from Bach to ZZ Top, Artis decided that he was still looking in the wrong place.
Next, he decided he would talk to other people.... see if they had found the ultimate /'ʌltəmət/truth. He talked to his parents, his brothers and sisters, his teachers, his friends, and even just plain/plen/old strangers. Unfortunately, it seemed as if everyone else was just as confused as he was! Sure, some of them seemed to think they had it figured out, but what they said didn’t really ring true with Artis. Their answers always seemed to hinge on blind faith, and Artis wanted to know for sure... so he came to the conclusion that blind faith wouldn’t work for him.
The thing that distressed/dɪ'strɛst/Artis the most about his talks with people was that most people had simply stopped wondering, had relinquished/rɪ'lɪŋkwɪʃ/all of their questions about life and given up hope of ever finding the ultimate truth. Disappointed, Artis decided that he couldn’t find the meaning of life by talking to people.
By this point he was very confused. So Artis decided to sit down and think. Maybe if he just thought about what he had learned, the ultimate truth would pop/pɑp/into his head. Well, he thought... and thought... and thought. Finally, he realized that his thoughts were just going in circles, getting him nowhere. So a frustrated Artis gave up on thinking.
Artis was sad. He felt defeated. He had spent so much time searching for the meaning of life, but he had nothing to show for it. He went outside. He sat down in the grass of his backyard. He began to cry.
Then, Artis ran his fingers through the grass, feeling how each individual blade/bled/had its own length, its own place in the ground. He looked up at the trees surrounding him, shading him from the power of the sun; and down at the mosquito/mə'skito/biting his leg, in its quest for survival. He thought about his family and friends, all of the people that he loved. He thought about God. He thought about himself, and he thought about the Earth.
In that one, big moment, Artis found what he was looking for. And he smiled.
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