The Other Hand

The Other Reason

I never had much of a relationship with animals. When I was young I raised a dog … but he ran away. Then in my adolescence there was the squirrel that would hang around the house and play with us kids … then one day he was gone. Alas! But on the other hand I wasn't the type to be too fond of animals. My outlook was essentially logic based and I figured … all on my own … what the deal was about the world … and lived as such.

Hence in meeting girls in my teens … my impatience often spilled over … but I would do the usual courtesy … and hope to get away as soon as I can. Hence when I enrolled in the university I was ill-prepared to deal with what arose in my passions. I was studying Economics … and came to see in the pictures created of the economy, nation, livelihood and world …. something I had not encountered in my logical mind. The factual nature of the subject was considerable and it broke a part of my own self induced figurings.

As a result in my second year I came under a great deal of personal pressures and was having difficulty sleeping. Then one night as I lay down to sleep I heard what sounded like two people quarreling. It was women's voices … highly unlikely in the all male dorm I was in. But when I woke the next day … I was weighed by something heavy and spent the day a little feverish. I came back from class and had some tea in the cafeteria and as was usual sparred over issues with the guys.

But as I returned to my room I felt like I was just mauled by a wild beast. I remember sitting at the balcony … smoking a cigarette and looking over the town … without the usual glib response or the smart-a*s quip. That was the day … I was introduced to the passions. I had stopped denying it … suppressing it … or creating a clever back hand to send it away. I was looking into the eyes of the human passions and it was staring right back at me.

To say the least we didn't get along. It appeared to me that I was brought up to simply deal with the passions at arms length. Isn't it the women's job? And I had been inculcated with techniques to handle it as such. But in a clear sense of reason … in coming to deal with the passions … I figured I have to get to know it better … the basis for some of the impulses … the irk … the rages … and the pleasure seeking. This ... I set myself to do with some diligence.

Some years later … in the line of work … I had visited New York and took a ride on the horse buggy through Central Park. I am thinking now about the way the driver handled the horse that day amidst the heavy New York traffic … making just the right sounds of assurance … probably fed it later … brushed him down … and essentially shared his working life with the horse.

I feel something similar in the way I have handled my passions … lived with it … worked with it … fed it something gourmet sometimes … and have come to identify with it. Its curious to think that its almost another person that I have been engaging … and I wonder sometimes … whether it would be nice to have the passions speak … have a conversation … and maybe the two of us can share the life a little better. I wonder how the buggy rider in New York does it?

I don't suppose its unusual to feel that way. To provide care to someone or some thing that way over a period of years is bound to create an expectation of a return. Perhaps that's why I was born looking the other way … simply fed up for slaving away constantly at something without it being able to return our love and affection. But I had returned to it … and in the eventual encounter … I appear to have converted my passions … from a perception of its personal and affectionate nature … to that of the world and its contents. That's logical isn't it?