The Hidden, The Desperate, The Essence

It's only been two days since my last post yet so many thoughts swirl in my head like a plague of dandelion seeds thick enough to chill the earth. I witnessed a truly profound episode of dementia today; I was patronizing an antique store when a man who seemed perfectly calm tried exiting the shop through the right door of the two door entrance. It not being a busy time that door was latched. Instead of exiting through the left-hand door he started pushing harder, screaming maniacal inquiries as to why it wouldn't open. He began thrashing at the door. The lone shop clerk, a septuagenarian named Thomas bearing the cross of two false hips, was paralyzed with shock. He was shell-shocked from WWII and loud noises and sudden violent outbursts devastated him. Finally, the man fell to the ground weeping. No one understood him. They thought he was mad, but I felt I understood him. I approached him and set my hand gently upon his shoulder. He looked up, startled, eyes bloodshot looking like a young child whose favorite bicycle had been taken by the neighborhood bully.

"Why won't it open for me?" he wept with such aching yearning.

"Because, my friend, that door was not meant to open."

He gathered his wits some and replied, "but a door must open, otherwise it's just an extension of a wall."

"Why must it be this door? The other one works."

"That door is the entrance. I fear if I go through it I'd be entering this place again. Every time I try to leave I'd be reentering and I'd be trapped forever. I've always felt like this. I dream it almost every night, and I have for as long as I can remember."

"You trouble soul, my heart splits like a canyon after a great quake. Cannot a door go both ways? After all, would you actually be entering the outside. Every door is simultaneously an entrance and an exit. But I understand. Every time I go home, every time I go to work, every time I see...her...I feel as though I'm trapped in the same place no matter where I go or what I do. This door is safe. Venture, my friend, and you will find salvation."

He rose with trepidation and, combating hesitation and the memories of his dreams, he pushed through the door. Realizing he was outside, he leaped in unfettered joy and ran about gaily as a child in love for the first time. Unfortunately, before anyone could stop him, his celebration led him into the street where he was promptly run down by a bus. I still don't know whether to feel sorrow or envy, as he died at the pinnacle of his life, his great epiphany, his joy, his salvation, the feeling preserved forever. The timing seemed to indicate all lessons were learned and it was time to move beyond this world. In the meantime all of us living are in chains and our cells are decorated cruelly with millions of keys, all looking nearly identical, leaving us to find the proper one before we starve or go mad.

In such despondency I went home and started reading. I got on the internet and somehow my research led me to some strange unknown histories of WWI. I came across an anomaly wherein within a two week period, 274 German soldiers just returned from combat committed suicide. The case is particularly strange as they all displayed similar behavior. Their loved ones described how they stood looking at the ceiling, frozen as statues but with eyes darting about as though they were focused on hyperactive flies. They would speak gibberish and then come out of this trance as though it never happened. I read these soldiers would sometimes stand in these trances for upwards of two hours. Yet none of this is widely reported. I know this is a cliche many an author has used but it really makes me think we're merely pieces on a game board. Every map I see further reminds me of this. They all look like children's game or puzzles. It's not like we're even pawns in a chess game, a game of strategy. It's as if someone is rolling the dice and moving us where the dice mandates. Every road is ultimately a path to either the beginning or a fruitless end. We are but objects of chance and foolishness. That is the essence of things.