The Absurdity of Reason

“I’m not sure what to do about it. All I know is that I suddenly realized it wasn’t true.” John Barkly said, while sitting on the tweed couch that resembles somewhat the one Sigmund Freud had in his day. Though, techniques have become more exact and a case like this one wouldn’t have turned up back then. I mean with the lack of scientific knowledge they had a century ago, there was no reason for the middle class to question they’re faith.

“And why do you think that is?” I said stoically with a touch of general interest.

“I don’t know. I mean all your life you’re raised to belief one thing because you’re told it’s the one hundred percent guaranteed truth to life. Now… I don’t even know what truth is.” John was about to say something else, but then hesitated and left it as that.

He sat up on the cheesy tweed couch in my silly Victorian aired office and stared off into space. He had an air of dissociative aspects to him; not to mention the life changing epiphany that occurred to him Sunday morning two days ago. It changed everything this patient believed to be reality for the past thirty-six years of his life. He dressed casually in a suit that appears to have been bought for his job at the local Goodwill; an Armani that can be closely dated at eight-teen years in age, and the graying hair on his head speaks of stress.

“Why does this change in perspective towards reality really bother you?” I asked.

Still not staring at me (though in Mr. Freud’s day it was unethical for the client to speak directly face to face with the Psychologist; I tend to take the more Rogerian route, with a high energetic touch of cognitive/behavioral orientation), and the silence creeping in the corners of the room being the only environmental stimuli for auditory reflexes to respond to. John finally stands up and says a little quietly “I have to go.”

He then opens the door that leads out into the waiting room, and casually shuts it behind him.

Assuming the receptionist will handle the financial problems, and hoping Mr. Barkly would be back for another session; I found this client fascinating. Not for true mental health reasons either, but more philosophical ones. I mean he doesn’t possess any diagnosable symptoms beyond acute ones. He just seems shocked and a little dissociative in some aspects. Nothing too serious. He just lost faith in his worldview. Although it would be strange if every now and then someone didn’t lose faith. I mean, why else are we the dominant species? The trial and error that defaults from natural selection wasn’t an accident (it is but it isn’t. With all the redundancy found in the universe it was going to happen eventually… statistics and probability can surprise and tear down any house of assumptions); the method was only natural.

What isn’t natural is for one to question what is accepted (though in the long run, many benefits will correspond to such inquiry). What is natural is for one to mate, hunt, eat and sleep, while what’s alien is to contemplate, innovate, and find what is objectively true in life. The limbic functions will “trick or treat” any species with passions, but what truly make one human is appreciation, meaning, and a drive to understand the world around us. Though, in the end, these characteristics are found few and far between. The more likely scenario is one of despondency mixed in with apathy. Delusions of grandeur can make one feel comfortable, but the contemplative will appreciate the stars that enshrine the sky at the end of the day.

I drift back to the present and feel the need for a strong drink. You know, that rosary light that brightens even the most despondent of days. I get up slowly from the chair and walk over to the scatter bin that is my desk. You think a psychologist like me would have anally arranged stacks of paper dressing the table, but the reality of the situation is that organization is a lost cause here. I open the bottom drawer were I hide prohibitions greatest enemy, and grab the bottle of distilled whisky that I keep hidden from prying eyes. I fill the glass normally used for “decoration” half way, and then I tuck the tonic back into its resting place. The first sip is a symphony of epicurean peace, while the second allows a recollection of my senses. A pause, then I take another and toast to the nostalgia of better times.

Above my desk dangles a window of awe better recognized by the post-impressionist as Van Gogh’s “Starry Night.” It hangs like a majestic angel, like a lighthouse among a world of dull ritual. I make a final toast to the sublime and finish the drink of Irish poets. Solemnly I put the glass back and appreciate a slight dulling of the senses that was Hemingway’s muse. Dionysus didn’t only fill the need that is agriculture, but went a step further in giving us a tonic for every situation. A corner stone for the most elated of celebrations, and the medium through which the most beautiful in life becomes sublime.

The silence of the office has engulfed me in peace, with an almost surreal dream-like feel to it. I close my eyes and smile, because in this moment I feel happy. I feel satisfied. The only regret I feel in this moment is that happiness was left without a toast. I close my eyes and make a silent reminder that I will toast to happiness next time. After all its only right when one is in possession of such an elusive feeling to raise they’re glass and toast to this ever coming, and ever going mistress we call happiness. A mistress such as this doesn’t only deserve to be toasted to, but possesses a certain “divine” right to it. For the happy moments are few and rare in this life, and to miss them is nothing more than a tragedy. In the end, how can someone appreciate a gift when they don’t even take notice of its presence?

I open my eye’s again to the cheap (yet adequate) replica of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night.” There is something to say about reality, which is why Van Gogh chose a dreamy surreal medium as his gift to us. The impressionistic perception of the world around him tells us that he knew the rarity of happiness in life, and only such an understanding can produce the beauty that he made. True art fills the void missing from the whole puzzle that is life. Takes true understanding and true will to overcome realization of true life. The one who can rise above the safe haven of delusions can appreciate fact and reality as a whole.

I stand and smile, then finally determine that I should get on and finish my day. My final appointment was Mr. John Barkly, and his walking out early was unfortunate. Though I understand the frustration when one’s worldview is turned upside down, but the crisis is only a stepping stone in life.

I open the door from my office to the waiting room, and then turn off the lights before closing the door. I notice the receptionist has left work early and I make a mental note to reprimand her tomorrow. At least it’s a “first offence” and she’s more work orientated then the previous one. Of course this one doesn’t drink like the last one, but there lies the reason why she no longer works here; an alcoholic who lacks the “functioning” point when it came to titles. As I walk through the waiting room I hesitate to straighten up the magazines, then decide in the null direction (why try to fix an old habit that doesn’t need fixing?). I than silently giggle to myself at the absurdity of people trying to change things that don’t need changing. I turn off the lights and leave the building, then turn around to lock the door. I turn back towards the parking lot and admire the snow as it floats gently down to the pavement. Before heading to my car I light a cigarette that’s been calling my name for too long. I inhale deeply and savor the taste of tobacco. Smiling to myself I think how precious this habit was when I was sixteen.