The Green caldron - University Library

December, 1961 IS
IS
Relativity
Sylvia Pikelis
Rhetoric 102, Theme 11
IT NOT STRANGE HOW A HUMAN MIND CAN SOMETIMES
become passionately obsessed with some small, insignificant detail that
soon manages to dwarf all other thoughts and to imprison and bind the
mind with an almost unbreakable knot? Perhaps this is one of those pro-
verbial "thin lines" which separate the sane from the insane—this ability to
become obsessed with a detail, to become engrossed with the fate of a speck
of dust, the fate of a tiny ant, or, as it was in my case, the fate of a growing
flower.
Strange that I, or anyone else, for that matter, should have noticed it to
begin with, but somehow, as my gaze slid over the scene, it came to rest on,
and instantaneously become attached to, the stone—not so much to the
stone as to what was beneath it. It was a heavy, foreboding stone,
and at its side, in fact almost underneath it, was a tiny, wretched plant.
It is hard to explain, perhaps even impossible, but somehow, somehow,
compassion filled my entire being, compassion for this minute part of
an immense thing called Life. How cruel fate had been to the unfortunate
seed to have placed it there ! How fruitless and futile any effort to grow
It would never survive. It was almost beyond belief that it had managed to
grow even this much. Certainly it would never achieve the destiny that was
its birthright. The promise of the blood-red beauty which the single bud
stubbornly held would never be fulfilled.
Though strangely saddened, I could not help being fascinated by this
plant's apparent refusal to die in spite of all the overwhelming odds. I fol-
lowed the progress of the plant for days, and I must admit that I sometimes
watched it for hours on end, completely oblivious to time—completely ob-
livious to everything but that struggling bit of life. I had no hope for it, for
what hope could there be for a plant whose roots were so intimately a part
of, so completely caught and nourished by, a cold, gray stone—a stone that
even hindered the rays of the life-giving sun from reaching that withering
growth. I had no hope, and yet the plant, defiant in its struggle to grow,
persistent in its claim on life, continued to astound me with its amazing
durability.
It would survive only a few more days at the most. A feeling of anxiety
overcame me; I had become one with that plant, and thus, in some strange
way, the hopelessness and futility of its existence became the hopelessness and
futility of mine. Its fate became intertwined with mine, and it soon became
impossible for me to tell one from the other. I had no hope for the plant,
!