Chapter 59
When there was only one man in the world there
were problems, and when there were two men in the
world there were twice as many problems, and when another
man came along the problems were multiplied by three. But
now there are many more men and there are many
more problems and they've reproduced and spread themselves
mmmall over
the earth in a great, crawling germ. Wherever you go
you find men and their problems and they are built
one on top of the other in an opulent, spongy
congealment that asphyxiates the mind in a tangled anarchy of
ideas. It is a jungle of the spirit, and there
are trails that lead nowhere and the chunky, unshepherded
mmmgrowth
flowers into a sickly phantasm. And just as there are
scientific names for grasses and shrubs and vines and ferns
and trees, so too there are labels for these equivalent
flora, like Planning and Power and Competitive Systems
mmmand Centralization
and Interdependence and Liberals and Conservatives and
mmmReactionaries and Radicals
and Standards of Living and Economic Control and Security and
Resources and Geography and Profit and Classes and
mmmNational Honor.
It's a cumulative canker that keeps on adding to itself
in a frenzied orgasm of incarnation, and you'd have to
deduct one man from another all the way back to
the first man before you could discover what it means.
The mind came before words and the mind came before
ideas and the mind was the pursuer and not the
pursued. But now it's a turnabout chase and the mind
is the harried quarry and it cringes and is afraid.
Living is an empty pot and thinking is a can-opener
hanging from a pantry shelf and all the ingredients that
you mix into your life are taken from classified tins
with printed directions. You cannot improvise a recipe or escape
from the formula or deviate from accepted preparations. And it
is only when circumstance has swept the cupboard bare that
you learn the pudding's proof is not how a man
has spent his life but how he has ended it.
You are striving to recall a pattern. Surely, you know
how to die. Your father did it and his father
did it and so did his and his. There must
be something inside of you that will tell you what
procedure to follow, what last gesture you must make, what
music of the muscles, design of nerve and movement and
reflex. Listen for a cue. It will come. And your
whole face will light up with knowledge. Yes, you will
know how it is done, and you will do it
directly and unhesitatingly, just as it was done before you.
This is the animated earth that goes busily among stars.
Grass in the breeze. Breeze tugging at leaves. Leaves falling
in mud. Mud sustaining grass. All this in six days
with rest on the seventh. It's been a short week.
Well, you have eaten of its food and you have
drunk its water and you have warmed yourself by its
heat. You have walked on its surface, you have dug
into its being, you have felt of it when you
had need of strength. It has sheltered you from danger and
it has hidden you from the sight of your enemies
and taken you to its breast and given you a
couch to lie upon in your large exhaustion. And now
it asks you to repay the debt, and you can
do no more than give back what you have taken.
So toss the world over your shoulder for good luck.
* * *
