No Answer is an Answer

My papa (godfather) likes to remind people from time-to-time that no answer is an answer. Might not be the answer you want, might not be the way you want to be answered, but it is an answer.

On the topic of obsession, since it’s been on my mind of late—I’ve been in the incredibly valuable position to observe myself interacting with my papa. Early on, and bless his entire self for this, I tried to get him to tell me things I wanted to hear, the way I wanted to hear them. Tell me just once more, just a little reassurance, just tell me yes or no.

I’m pretty sure he saw that one coming from orbit, as it were. It’s a common enough strategy.

His response was to simply ignore me until I came at him either with an understanding that came from realizing I was up to fucky business or after having exhausted myself until I was ready to listen. I’m very sure it was deliberate, and equally sure that, considering how many students he has, he had neither the time nor the crayons to deal with my bullshit.

It wasn’t until later that I realized how valuable that refusal to answer could be.

What I was looking for was something to feed my obsession—there was no answer that would have made me feel better, would have resolved my question, would have fixed my problem (or at least nothing I could hear.)

It was in the silence, the refusal to participate, that I could hear myself. Ranting, raving, angry, anxious, and sometimes even malicious, winding down into the silence with no one to attend my temper tantrum.

And then, when I had worn myself out, I discovered there was an answer in that silence. It was a mirror, a reflection in which, instead of reacting comfortably, I could see how I was acting.

Some time later, he reminded me that no answer is an answer. And the spirits reminded me that I’m not a consumer, to be expecting instant gratification.

His and their deft and graceful responses are a source of continuous amazement, as are the multitude of their kindnesses.