I stared at the bowl of alphabet soup on the table. Steam rose from the broth in wisps, rising and then vanishing into the air. Small pieces of vegetables rested on the bottom of the bowl, and pasta letters floated just below the surface. With a spoon, I absently stirred the soup, swirling the solids around in the bowl. I ceased my actions, and the waves of soup gradually died down. The letters settled into place, spelling the words:
I gazed with amusement at my alphabet soup. Was it only a fluke, a one-in-a- million chance occurrence, that my soup had talked to me? Or were its words a divine message, sent to me by some unseen force in the universe? I pondered this as I stared at the bowl.
If it was a divine message that my soup had given me, I knew I should not ignore it. I began spooning the soup into my mouth, savoring the rich flavor. In a secret place in the back of my mind, I hoped that the soup's flair for words would be passed on to me.
I find myself searching for meaning in many places these days. Whenever I hear a song, I find that I must interpret it. Sometimes, when I cannot find meaning in a song, I begin to realize there may not be a meaning to find. Do the words to "There's Something Women Like About a Pickup Man" really have some deep, philosophical message?
People these days are constantly asking questions like "What is the meaning of life?" or "Is there a God?" I find myself wondering if asking these questions is just a waste of time. If my mind is too humble to find an answer, should I even bother trying?
Maybe that is the problem with our society: people try to find answers to questions that cannot be answered, and meaning in things that are meaningless. Maybe we spend too much time searching for divine messages in our alphabet soup.