Keller joined an infinitely expanding throng of Pomona College alums whom my brain envied. Kris Kristofferson graduated summa cum laude before going on to … well … you know. John Whitney, Sr. fathered computer animation. Norris Bradbury worked on the Manhattan Project. John Cage (whose polysyllabic accomplishments I could not even pronounce, much less comprehend) pioneered interdependency in music, electroacoustic music, and non-standard use of musical instruments.
The Great All That Is sent me to a college of hyperactive overachievers. I graduated from Pomona highly trained in research, analysis, problem solving, and staying up all night to finish term papers. The Solver of All Equations prepared my brain for greatness. Why then did The Composer of Everything drop this highly skilled lump of clay into the slacker lifestyle of a writer? I am confounded that Big Smarty Pants in the Sky imprisoned my brain inside the head of a woman who lies on her bed studying the ceiling fan.
This puzzle cried out for the data processing skills of my eager cerebellum. I set to work deciphering possible reasons and trying to draw rational conclusions. The riddle refused to yield an answer. I felt sorry for my brain. Pomona taught it nothing about koans.