Its not meant to be deep so don't be surprised when its not. Its just an overview of ideas that flit around my mind every once in a while.
Hope you enjoy it.
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A gust of wind buffeted Christopher’s coat as he exited Americorp. Shivering in the cold, he wrapped his thick overcoat around him and started down the sidewalk. He paused for a moment to buy a newspaper from a local vendor before thrusting his purchase under his arm and continuing on his way. Exhaustion shadowed him but he had only a small break before he would have to return to the office. He thought of his small apartment with its dark, quiet bedroom and comfortable bed. It seemed as if he hadn’t been home for ages. There just wasn’t any time to spare for such luxuries as sleeping in his own bed. A hazard of a high paying job is the toll it takes on one’s health. Christopher had been subsisting on coffee, donuts and naps in the break room for the past three days. He needed to get
out, a man could only take so much.
Clouds covered the city in a haze of melancholy. Somber apparitions drifted past him in office grays and blacks, oblivious to the world around them. Christopher stopped for a moment to watch them pass. Ash – ash and charcoal on a colorless canvas. The remnants of a fire that had long since burnt out. Not even a spark remained in the eyes of those who passed – not a spark or glimmer; nothing of life or hope. He felt that if he reached out and touched them and would disintegrate into nothing.
The surrounding buildings channeled another gust of wind that seemed intent on taking Christopher’s hat with it. Looking up, he saw the wind take on a character of its own. Little imps leered down at him, making faces and laughing. Ash people and imps – he needed a break. But where should he go? The coffee shop filled with nothing but young up-and-comings, plotting to stab each other in the back while chatting gaily over large cups of coffee? The local fast food shop where the minimum-wagers would glower at him over the counter for daring to get a degree?
Christopher sighed and decided to let his feet guide him. After a couple of meandering minutes he noticed that he had been tracing the route to the city park. Looking up from his shoes he saw a solitary beam of sunlight over where the park should be. It burst through the clouds as if God was shining a spotlight and saying, “Here. This is where I want you to go. This is where you
need to go.”
Christopher’s pace quickened; a sense of indescribable desperation drove him. The park was a haven – an oasis in the midst of a cement and asphalt wasteland. Walk to trot, trot to run Christopher tore down the sidewalk dodging some people and crashing into others. On he continued without a word or apology. All of his attention was focused on the one shrinking beam of sunlight left in the city. The sky screamed at him that this was his last chance. His last chance for what? Don’t ask - run. Run! As he sped around the final corner, his overcoat was flung wide from momentum. The sun was only a pinprick in a ceiling of cold impersonal gray, but it still shone. The last of the light fell from the heavens, caressing the lone figure of a woman in a halo of light. The last vestiges glinted off her auburn locks, calling to him in a language he felt he should understand, but at the same time it was utterly foreign to him.
Here. The gap closed, plunging the park into the same gray as the rest of the city. A crack of thunder reverberated off the surrounding buildings seeming to signify the finality of the loss.
Christopher took a deep breath and glanced tentatively at the increasingly foreboding sky. Looking back at the woman, he began the trek across the dull-green grass. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off her; he felt that he should know her. But why? What was so appealing, so attractive about this woman? The woman twitched as if startled from deep thought and held out her hand as if to catch something. Her sudden movement broke his trance. He came back to the real world to hear the pit-pattering of rain on the ground around him and to feel the ice cold water run down the back of his neck. He opened his newspaper and held it over his head as the rain began to pour. He and the woman ran to the shelter in the middle of the park.
Even out of breath and soaking, she was strangely alluring. Her rain plastered hair hugged her face and neck, defining the angles and curves to mathematical precision. Her blouse, while a modest cut, left nothing to the imagination as the water made it cling to her chest. Her drenched skirt hung heavily, echoing her movements with almost a divine grace. Above lips quivering from the cold, a solitary drop of water hung from her nose. Her eyes were – oh God, they were looking at him. She held his gaze; coolly, evenly, and with an almost animal-like intensity; daring him to look or say something – anything. Embarrassed, Christopher turned and looked out into the park. The rain was coming down so hard he could barely see twenty feet. He shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the silence. Hesitant, he said, “My, that was sudden. It looks as if we are going to be here awhile.”
The woman smiled gently and said, “Looks to be. The rain surely is beautiful though. And afterwards the air will be clean and everything will be washed anew and shining brightly.” Christopher almost scoffed. The rain looked like one giant sheet and it fell in a manner which made him think someone had sliced the sky with a giant sword. This was not water falling. Oh no. It was blood and gore and all manner of nasty things. And afterwards, things would be just as dirty as before – only now it would be muddy and sticky. Disgusting. This woman was obviously naïve.
For awhile, there was silence. Both figures stood motionless while regarding the rain after their own fashion. Fed up with the silence, Christopher turned to the woman and held out his hand.
“My name is Christopher McCaughnahey.”
For a quiet moment she regarded his hand. Figuring that she must be from the country or some other low background where good manners were lacking he prompted, “And how may I address a woman of such beauty and grace?”
A look of disdain crossed her face. “Does an arbitrary appellation thrust upon me by society matter that much to you? Is a label required for conversation? And furthermore do you really think that I would fall for such patronizing flattery?”
Startled by the sheer boorishness of the woman’s reply, he withdrew his hand and responded tartly, “In polite society, a name is desired to converse on a respectable and intellectual level. It is also extremely ill-mannered not to reply in kind when one has already provided their name.” He of course regretted speaking so to a woman in such a manner, but his earlier observations were obviously true.
“What has society done for me that I would kowtow to its desires?”
Christopher froze in shock. Did this woman live in a cave? What a truly simple woman she must be not to see the benefits of society. “Why it has provided you with art and language; science and mathematics; protection and government; economy and industry!”
The woman stood quietly for a moment, an errant gust of rain-laden wind playfully tossed her locks back and forth. “My name is Ellis.” Christopher relaxed a little, annoyance leaving his stance. Silently they both watched the rain until Ellis said, “Tell me, what has art done for me?”
“Expression of feeling is not important to you?”
“Why of course it is, but I’m expressing feeling now without a brush or a pen. Why should someone else’s feelings be important to me? If I know them, all is well and good but when it comes right down to it how many of these artists do you know?”
“Well, none…I suppose.”
“Exactly. So, if the artist is expressing sadness, and there is no way I can help him, am I supposed to in turn feel sadness? How does that benefit either of us?”
“But art has aided in the production of language. And Miss, before you say ‘But what has language done for me’ I suggest you take a good and long time thinking of how to express that without using language.”
Ellis’ eyes widened. She paused, before saying: “But what good does it do me?”
“It helps you communicate with others.”
“Can I not communicate with a gesture or a look?”
“Are gestures and looks not Language in their own right?”
“But then what good is spoken language?”
“A spoken language can convey far more than a mere gesture or look. It can express love –“
“- or hate.”
Annoyed by the interruption, Christopher continued, “It helps nations to communicate. Treaties are useless if one misinterprets a gesture – but if everything is clarified with language, the sanctity of the agreement is ensured. Language can inspire millions to do good things”
“And at the same time, it can bring war. It can inspire nations, true. It can turn brother against brother, father against child. Without language, the level of corruption and deceit would be far lower. It is harder to lie with a look or a gesture.”
Once again, they both fell silent. The rain had lightened, but the wind had risen to a screaming gale. Trees bowed before its power. Lightning illuminated the scene, throwing the world into a series of silhouettes. Again, Christopher lost the battle of silence.
“Well enough, while art and language are products of society, they can benefit it, harm it or have no effect at all. But what about science?”
“What about it?”
“Well surely you can agree that science has provided comfort and benefit to millions around the world.”
“Has it? It has produced weapons that kill impersonally from a distance. One only has to press a button in a room to end the lives of hundreds or thousands. We’ve created cures that in turn create even more powerful and deadly diseases. We’ve created chemicals that poison soil and water for decades to come; that can sicken, deform and kill.”
“But also it has allowed us to travel to the stars. To discover cures for things that were previously untreatable – cures that help more than harm. To lengthen the average lifespan. To cheapen production, so that we can raise the standard of living. All of these from this century alone. And it is just the tip of the mountain of knowledge we have gathered over millennia.”
“What good does all of this do if it causes so many problems?”
“Knowledge is power—“
“—and power corrupts. Absolute knowledge corrupts absolutely.”
“Without knowledge, how does Man triumph over the beasts?”
“Is it natural for one beast to triumph over another?”
“The cobra triumphs over the mongoose for a meal, as the leopard triumphs over the antelope.”
“Ah, but even in Nature a balance is maintained. The mongoose at times kills the cobra for a meal of its own. Despite the speed of the great cat, the agility of the antelope may triumph. It is merely a corruption of Nature for Man to rise above this.”
“But God gifted us with the ability to shape Nature to our will.”
“Pfah. Who’s God, yours? It is most certainly not mine. As it is not both of ours, it has no bearing on this conversation.”
Christopher chuckled. “You are evading my point.” A crack of thunder agreed. “To return to your earlier point – power corrupts. And if power corrupts, can it not be said that corruption is power? Even if it is not so, if Man is indeed a corruption of Nature, it is the power provided by said corruption that has allowed Man to rise above the beasts.”
“A bird shapes nature by building a nest. A gopher shapes Nature by digging a tunnel. And yet you see yourself as better than these beings.”
“Man builds far grander things to the benefit of many as opposed to the benefit of few. Using his power, he turns this ‘corruption’ of Nature into something good.”
“Man builds these things by forcing seeds to grow where Nature attempts to destroy them; by draining the soil of minerals and metals; by stripping forests bare. He forces Nature’s hand by throwing His works in Her face.”
“Of course you would portray Nature as a woman, beaten and abused, and Man as an aggressor feeding off of Her helplessness.”
“I do nothing more than what Language permits. Man is Man – it is everyone. Male and female, young and old. Nature is no one – She is, in fact, neutral. It is simply the usage and history of these words that applies their…
poetic gender. It is arbitrary. For any one to be offended by arbitrary gender is both low and immature.”
Christopher stiffened at the gibe. Behind him the storm was dying, but there was too much of his soul in this debate. It was as if he was arguing against Nature herself for the good of humanity.
Ellis continued, “Nor is Nature an abused woman. Look at how She fights the melting of the ices caps and deforestation. Mass floods and strong storms swarm the globe because of the changes inflicted upon her. And Man is hardly an abuser – He is simply a small child with a sword threatening a warrior far older and more experienced than Him.”
“A child?!”
“In the grand scheme of things, yes. Even a child with a sword could inflict a wound, but the likelihood of it being mortal is very small. Man will wipe himself out before he can do any real damage to Nature.”
“Are you suggesting then that Man should give up all He has achieved to once again let Nature rule?”
“I never once said that.”
“You hardly need to. Speaking of Man’s actions as a corruption of Nature is a testament to the idea itself. It tells me you would rather see Man falling to the anarchy and chaos which is our bestial nature.”
“You are putting words in my mouth, Mr. McCaughnahey. I may have said that Man’s actions are a corruption of Nature, but I never once said that they were wrong. Corruption is simply a dishonest and unwanted change. Man’s corruption is dishonest because it does not stay true to His nature and it is unwanted because it disrupts the cycles. But is all change bad?”
The rain had quieted to a slight drizzle. Once again the shadow of the city was visible. Ellis spoke:
“You have been a drone of Society to long. You have forgotten the language of Nature. It is your birth tongue and yet you discard it as if ashamed. In its place you speak the language of Society as a traitor takes up the language of a foreign usurper without question. You shun sexuality, hunger, and power on the outside but on the inside you still feel Nature calling out to you to embrace these things. So you act yet more ashamed. You make these things and that which leads to these things taboo – evil - to assuage your guilt. Instead, you worsen it.”
“And you have taken a view of Nature that allows you to seen nothing but evil and darkness in Man. You have put Nature on such a high pedestal that you can’t see the good Man creates around you because your gaze is captivated by your idol. Your cynicism and prejudice blinds you to the danger of Nature. Have you ever considered what would happen if as powerful a creature as Man was allowed to return to its Natural state? If you think the amount of death and disease that is rampant now is a testament to the idiocy of Society, think for a minute about what Man would do without governance. Right now, even though the powerful still exert their prestige over the weak, they are held in check by the will of Society. But once that hold is gone such an armageddon would ensue that I shudder to think of it now. Rape, murder, and theft would run rampant as it is the nature of Man to appease sexual and physical desire, to remove potential danger and to acquire. You, my dear, would not be safe unless you were willing to subject yourself to the rule of another. That rule is, in itself, a form of Society. When the strong overpower the weak and retain them in that state, there is governance – there is Society.”
The last few drops of rain fell from the sky. Ellis and Christopher held each others gazes, neither wishing to look away first.
This time it was Ellis who looked away, “Perhaps we are both looking on this the wrong way. Instead of viewing this as a dichotomy of Nature and Society, perhaps there is an attractive middle ground. Perhaps if we didn’t treat the things of Nature as taboo, we wouldn’t need so many rules and regulations. Perhaps instead of seeing sex as immoral and disgusting, we should look at the result – the happiness of the moment or the happiness of reproduction.”
Christopher responded, “Instead of locking ourselves in a building, repeating the same motions over and over again like automatons we could go out into the world to learn and experience things for ourselves. While things like government and economy are present in Nature, the extent to which Man has taken them has morphed them into something entirely artificial. Instead Nature controlling our nature, these constructs are created to triumph over that which allowed us to become as powerful as we are. The only reason these artificial obsessions are ‘important’ is because we have made them falsely necessary.”
Ellis stepped towards him eagerly, her eyes bright as she explored the idea. Words tumbled out of her mouth as they came into her mind. “We are destroying what made Man Man – and that is His nature. Not the Nature of things, but the nature that has allowed us to learn, to grow and as you said has given Man the power to do so. The fire has been burning for so long that were have become mere smudges of soot on Nature’s canvas whereas the other beings on earth have retained their vibrant and original color. They have remained true to their natures, as opposed to throwing them to the winds.”
Christopher stood stunned, the image of the ashen shadows once again at the forefront of his mind.
Ellis gasped in delight. Taking his arm, she turned him to look out from the shelter. “Look at the grass.”
The sun had once again broken through the clouds and the world was awash with color. Each blade was a diamond tipped emerald. The longer he looked, the more Christopher could see something else. Why, he could almost see Nature’s brush strokes in the individual leaves – the chisel marks in the sculpted rain drops. He turned to Ellis and saw her not against buildings, but against a background of trees. Her hair moved of its own accord, as there was no wind in the park. Despite the fact she was wearing next to nothing, it seemed
right with her and as such it did not bother him. A wolf crouched by her side, showing faithfulness but not subservience. Neither was better than the other. Now Christopher knew Ellis for who she was, and regarded her with reverence.
A blaring sound pierced the scene, sending it crashing to the earth like shards of glass. Christopher almost cried out in agony as the clock tower beckoned him back to the office – back to the world of Man.
Turning back, she was gone. Only the faint scent of pine needles remained. Christopher turned his back and walked out of the shelter, seeing the world in a new light – seeing it as if for the first time in his life.
