thoughts with a story about a man who wants to be a doctor

within everything there is something that I would like to talk about, connect with, become, or even abhor. I feel that the entire world is contained in each coconut, each rock, each leaf.

here is my commitment: it is to wonder, it is to the sounds of the river even when I do not overlay it with the imagination. I wonder what the voice of the people is, what the voice of the people are, what the way the wind blows has to do with anything.

i feel, like most people, I am sure, that there is nothing worth making except making an excuse to make something. that is the real making. sure making sounds like there is some magic, some reason, some purpose, but people find that having made something, having completed something, they find that there is still something to be made, to make an excuse to make, well, I think that is more likely what we are after, and after we have made the excuse to make something, well, what do we have left to do but make the thing that we have an excuse to make.

I have two children, this is true, and they seem, more than anything, an excuse to keep making, an excuse to keep living, without my children, what kind of excuses would I have.

but what allows us to make an excuse to make. we need to make a making, and I don't mean to make a thing, or an object or an idea, I mean that we need to making something that makes us make.

sometimes I fear that we have made systems that force meaning upon us, and once we have these forces here making us make excuses to make thing, well then we are enslaved to meaning, to purpose. but why am I enslaved to making. can't it be that this is a liberation, that I am now free to pursue some sort of meaning that has been set before me.

a game does not begin to become a game until there are constraints, and this is my largest fear, that life is not a game, but that life is the thing before the game, that life isn't a game, that there are no rules, no constraints, no reason, no end, no purpose.

then again, it seems that the one constraint of life is living, is not dying, is staying alive, is lengthening the life, is making life as long and as meaningful and as full as it can be. then the search really of any life is immortality. and perhaps then, my work is to lengthen out my life to extend even beyond my living, I mean that I am meant to live such a life that there are things left of me that keep me going.

I mean when we get down to it, when we really get down to brass tacks on what life is, what living is, is it not just the organization of information, is it not just a principle of ordering. so, then my purpose is life is to create myself in such a way that I continue to order, that I continue to stay cohesive, even after the disolution of my body.

but the purpose in life is not the same as the purpose in consciousness. life and consciousness are not the same (I don't believe), and so my purpose in consciousness is something different. mainly because life is a matter of being animated and propagated, and I think that consciousness is a matter of recognition, a matter of understanding, a matter of being awake, a matter of having eyes, so to speak.

life is a matter of spermatics, oviodics, of bringing one and two together, or splitting and grafting, of joinging and extending, or bulbing, of blossoming, of replicating, of fertilizing, of fecundity.

consciousness, on the other hand, is existential, it is singular, it is particular, it is isolated, it is a reflected interior. I don't mean that it is completely solipsistic, but it is solipsistic. the purpose of consciousness is something entirely different than that of life.

what is the purpose of being conscious. consciousness doesn't seem to care as much about sleeping. it is life that has a hard time sleeping, consciousness seems to be perfectly fine with falling asleep. or perhaps its the complete opposite. life is alright with sleeping because it enjoys the growth properties of sleep. life enjoys cycles.

consciousness is what seeks immortality. life willingly gives itself over to death.


i don't have a license to practice medicine, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. I went to my front yard and asked the maple how he was doing. I had never worked with a mute patient before, and it didn't appear that he knew any sign language. I was worried at first, but his body looked pretty healthy, but then again, this is perhaps why he had come to see a doctor anyway, and by golly I was going to doctor him up well. I dispensed with the usual questions I ask patients: how was he, had he spoken with his mother recently, did he take up smoking, was he planning on changing any habits, what brings you in today, etc. etc. mostly I just started the usual exam, I listened to his heart beat, and realized that his heart had stopped, I called for a nurse, I kept screaming, nurse nurse, get a doctor in here, he's flatlined, he's stiff as a board, and, well, I tried to lay him down, but he seemed rooted in place, and so I started to do chest compressions on him as he stood vertically. I was worried that I wouldn't get a pulse out of him, and the whole while I spoke to him and yelled for the nurse: it's alright, we'll save you, we're going to get through this, nurse, you're family is going to see you again, don't die on me, nurse, nurse, don't die on me, you're in good hands, you're in good hands, and, well, I kept on trying with all my might, but honestly, he was gone, he was long gone, there was nothing I could do, I had put all my effort in trying to save his life. it was a hard day at work today, and I had done the best I could, I went home and took a long shower, how could I have let this happen, this was my first patient that I had lost, I had never lost a patient, I used to be able to say I have never lost a patient, but now, how can i live with the fact that I could no longer claim a clean record as a doctor, how could I have let someone die. I got out of the shower and looked myself in the mirror, what would I do if I had died, what would my family do, oh my god, I am so scared to die one day, I know that it will happen, that one day I will be visiting myself and I'll being asking myself questions, like how are you and how's your mother and what brings you in here today, and there I will be talking to myself and I will feel myself flatlining, feel myself yelling for the nurse, feel myself going, going, wishing I could take a warm shower.