Essay: A problem with no end.

    Leave it to a flower to be a flower and grow, and that flower no matter where will bloom as it has elsewhere. To traverse the world in search of a flower, what a thoughtless task. However different, beautiful or alike ends merely in finding that which was already at hand. The guile of the trip is in the journey where people are met and relationships made, a trip already taken and relationships already had; a world where it being round has more of the same in each part. Earth, water, heat and cold, mountains and valleys, and often the same type of people with the same type of problems or the same lives. Joy, so what is to seek or enjoy in that which merely in form takes a slight deviation from that which is precisely known? Where is the power in the knowledge that brings to know so little? What is the Joy? Where does it come from? Why does it entail what it does? How is inquiry held together? These are questions I do not know the answers to. 

    To have a fascination is to admit that there must be differences in all the things which I profess to be equal, for if not perhaps it is the journey. If not the thing itself, then what, I must ponder, is the rationale that fuels the desire to seek, to find, to know, what we already do. Definitely to drive us one step at a time into yet another journey of sameness. To eat another food that has been grown or fished, to see another grass that has been stepped on, to see a land where animals on four legs hunt for food, or merely to see. a human person walk upright. Where is the joy in doing these things? When we do them near us, in our vicinity, they should elicit the same amazing response that it is found elsewhere; yet we know and have ample proof of the opposite. The elation we feel, the desire to seek more should be just as powerful in my own home, outside in my own neighborhood and clearly within the knowledge that my friends and family have much in their own sense that is rather foreign. It appears that no trip, no matter how far, no matter how incredible, or how many wonders it may entail, in the end, all being equal, for reasons I cannot understand, they show no more than that which we have seen. The feeling or desire is more powerful to those who choose it than any other reality that they seek or experience themselves in their own habitat. How shrewd must it be to live when living is so boring and yet so exciting as long as living takes place elsewhere.

    I live to, as science purports, to multiply. In as much, I have fulfilled my purpose. What then does this body of cells have left to do in this bat of human-filled stew we call humanity? With its many deeds, and even its science, if one is able to find the desire to enjoy the thing that is being sought, one must look in the place where one is currently not; thus never truly achieving the solution to a problem that starts here and thus a problem with no end. 

Short story: Do you mind?

 Sally Donovan met Bill Stewart as he exited the psychiatric ward in Hollyfield Estate. He was on a wheelchair being pushed about to the exit by a nurse and no one awaited his release with anticipation, nor did his demeanor point towards any excitement. Sally, a nurse from another institution having finished her shift here, after subbing for a no-show, was happy to sit with him as he waited for transportation to arrive. She came over and with the nonchalant attitude she had been told many times would get her in trouble, she hunched over so that he could see her with his bowed head staring at the ground and said: “Do you mind?”, holding a cigarette of a brand he didn’t recognize. He silently motioned for her to give him one and she obliged. They sat for a bit with no real desire to do much more than smoke and go about their business when he said: “Do you see him?” Bill Stewart was a schizophrenic man whose mania had taken over the best part of him. Sally replied quite hastily and in a puzzled look saying: “No, I don’t. Should I?” Grinning and looking over for the first time since they sat, he posed the cigarette for the invisible figure to take a puff while saying to her: “Nope, there’s no one there. But wouldn’t it be cool if there were?” and he couldn’t resist any longer and began to laugh maniacally. Sally, no stranger to the illness retorted while leaning over and speaking in a soft voice as to not be heard: “Yes it would!”

Over the course of a year after their first cigarette, they met and did normal-people stuff. From dining to movie outings, they were good friends. Somewhere along the way, he spoke to her in earnest and told her that due to his condition he wasn’t really looking for a relationship. She was kind enough to meet his half way to say, “As long as we can be friends, who cares right?” He was indeed happy. His hallucinations of a man, notably the same one he mentioned a year back, had become many as his medications began to lose their efficiency probably due to the constant use and coupled with so many other treatments through the years. Sally became quite aware of the hallucinations over time to the extent that she had Bill talk to them for her. She would pose questions for Bill to ask his companions whom most often replied candidly. 

Some time passed and Sally mentioned electroconvulsive therapy to his as a means to try something outside of medications. Bill thought of it for a long while and meanwhile Sally helped him talk to his hallucinations as to say the right thing to them and not anger them in the event he couldn’t see them anymore. Finally he decided the right time was now to go and he did. Sally was kind enough to drive him and accompany him during and after. 

Bill Stewart was a murderer. He was a fugitive, unbeknownst to him, from the law in many places and the interpol had taken notice as well. The reason he wasn’t caught was because there was no facial recognition and his name had changed much after his birth with himself and no one knowing who he is outside of a Bill Stewart. It was impossible for Sally, the nurses, or staff of the hospital to know that schizophrenia had tamed Bill’s darkness. He was simply, cluelessly living the normal life of a person with a debilitating sickness. After the electrical currents were administered during the procedure, it all came rushing back to Bill.

Back on his bed, he awoke after passing out during the procedure. Sally waiting happily by the bedside for his to recover and hoping that he was feeling better. He looked over at Sally and said: “Thank you. Without you, I don’t know that I would have been able to remember me.” He then motioned to hug her and when she reciprocated, what she fell was probably the most sincere hug and notion of friendship she had ever experienced. He then strangled her with the I.V. drip line in his right arm, but didn’t kill her. He held her down while he looked for a cigarette in her person and then lit one, and blew the smoke on her face while getting close to her ear as he once again tightened the noose around her neck, thinking about the first time they met, and whispered: “Do you mind?”