A Secret Story

Thinking back the man really had no reason to enter the house. It had simply called him. At the time he told himself that the door was open, somebody might need help, or something like that, right? He hastily leapt up the steps and approached the door. He gave a half-hearted "hello" and helped himself in, closing the door softly behind him. The interior reflected the exterior in the same way that a pet reflects its owner: not readily apparent until one has experienced both. While outside the home has the air of an average suburban house, inside betrayed the occupant's more lavish lifestyle. Dark wood floor covered tastefully every few feet with a thick rug of the kind one would see in movies. The walls were also a dark wood, with the occasional painting or picture elegantly framed and distributed in an odd but subliminally appropriate and satisfying manner. In the middle of the room hung a dimmed chandelier, unobtrusive, but reassuring.

The man, who is called Keith by many people, looked around in a fashion that suggested he was having second thoughts about his previously giddy intrusion. However, a noise grabbed his attention: a deep, heart-wrenching creak that was barely audible. He could almost say he felt it rather than actually heard it. It repeated itself rhythmically, as if it knew the beat a wonderful little diddy that nobody else knew. It drew him. Opposite the main door from which Keith entered was an elegant wooden door that led deeper into the innards of the increasingly comforting house. He twisted the ornate brass handle and was surprised at how "perfect" it felt. He realized it was the feeling the whole house gave him. The feeling that, while he might not know what lie inside, he did know that it was tidy, comfortable, and well oiled.

The door swung open with a similar air of satisfaction and revealed a room that announced itself to be a study of similar interior decoration to the foyer. The walls appeared to be bookcases, broken in the center directly opposite the door by a largish gray rock fireplace and mantelpiece. In the center of the room stood one of the most attractive coffee tables Keith had ever seen. It was flanked on both sides by identical wooden rocking chairs aimed towards the fireplace. It was lit and cast a comforting light around the room like a warm blanket on a cold day. On the mahogany table was a shining silver tea set with two steaming cups ready to satisfy the occupants of the beautiful rocking chairs.

"Come in, the tea is ready."

Keith had once read a book as a child, and in this book was a character that he had instantly fell in love with. It was a witty, care free, and altogether content old man. He had imagined a face, voice, and personality beyond those written in the book. To his total amazement, that man was sitting in one of the rocking chairs in front of the fire offering him a cup of tea.

Keith blinked, and moved slowly towards the vacant chair. "I do hope you closed the door on your way in, it tends to let a draft in."

"Er... Yes, yes I did," replied Keith.

"Good, have a seat. I love these chairs. My grandfather made them years ago. Gave them to a king. So pleased when we got them back." The man stared at Keith like they had in fact known each other for years. Then he moved his gaze to the fire, squinting a bit, and took a small sip of the tea. Keith, feeling slightly embarrassed, sat down slowly. He never took his eyes off the old man.
"Don't you love fires?" Asked the old man. "I think they are comforting. Funny how something so dangerous can be so comforting, eh? How can something that nobody can stand to touch for more than a few seconds be so deeply satisfying to stare at for hours?" He lapsed back into silence. Keith didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Right... How did you...Er..." The man looked up at Keith

"Know you were coming? I don't know. I listened to my feelings, which told me to make two cups of tea today and leave the door unlocked. Don't give me that look; I'm not talking about voices. Feelings. Try listening to them. They talk more than you think they do. Plus, strange things occasionally happen, like this."

"I'll try to remember that."

"Doesn't sound very whole hearted for somebody who just did so."

"Me?" inquired Keith.

"Yes, you. You came into my house. Can you tell me why?"

"Your door was open. I thought you might have needed help."

"The door was shut. You only imagined it was open to make it easier to listen to you feelings without feeling crazy. You see? I win again." His gaze returned to the fire.

"So what the hell are you getting at?"

"What the hell am I getting at? I don't know, I already told you that your the one that started this, why don't you get at something?"

"You're a tad bit confusing."

"I'm old, I'm allowed to be confusing."

"So you're saying that I saw your door as open in order to feel better about breaking in?"

"Sure, " He responded with a slight nod, " that sounds about right."

"Good." A pause. "Do you like the tea?" asked the man. Keith looked at his own cup. It was half empty.

"What? I didn't drink any... What?" He picked up the cup and tried to remember drinking it. He seemed to taste the slightly sweet and milky tea on the back of his tongue, but didn't recall drinking any.

"Hmm, you're making a lot of stuff up" stated the man. Keith was at this point thoroughly unraveled. He looked up absently.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe that's why you came here, because you're unhappy. It's not the best existence, living unhappy. Countless people have chosen to die rather than live a life in which they can't be happy. Fortunately, I don't have that option." He said the last bit as if he were talking about something no more important than which cereal brands the supermarket carries.

"The option of... killing yourself?" Keith asked. The old man sighed.

"Yes. What is happiness?" Keith was a bit shaken, but decided to play along. Maybe the old man had cancer or some other terminal affliction.

"Happiness. Hmm... I suppose it's a reaction to something you like. Like with enzymes or things like that." He was trying to sound smart and knowledgeable.

"So you don't think it's real? It's just an imaginary response to the events that play out to form our lives?"

"I never really thought about it. I hope it's real."

"Most would say it's real, real enough to fight for. How many wars have been fought over happiness?"

"I don't know. A lot."

"What kind of answer is that? I'm going to need some interaction in order for this conversation to work."

"Ok, ok. I guess when you think about it, all of them."

"Freedom, liberty, land, all substitutes for happiness. All wars have been fought because the people involved weren't happy, and we don't even know if it's a real feeling."

"So..."

"So you better get happy or you could hurt somebody. Not too quickly though, or you'll just have that shitty fake happiness."

"How can you have a fake version of something that isn't real?"

"Touché, you're catching up." The old man smiled. "I guess a better word would be 'disguised'. A disguised form of happiness."

"This sounds doubtful."

"Think of it this way: what is real?"

"Ooh, this is some hard-core philosophical stuff right here."

"Everybody loves playing the philosopher. Now answer the question."

"Ok, real is what I can sense. Something I can see, taste, touch, hear, or feel."

"How about stories? You can hear them, but are they real?"

"Now your playing with words."

"Okay, how about tricks of the light? Take a mirage. You can see that, but you can't, and you know that you can't, prove that it is real."

"Yes, but it doesn't occupy space. It is simply a reflection of... Something, I'm not sure what. But it originates from something real."

"What about my front door? Is it real?"

"Of course it is, what kind of question is that?"

"Can you see it? Or taste it? Or any other form of sensory?"

"I can go and feel it if I wanted to."

"Yes, but when you come back, you are once again at a point that you don't know for sure if it exists."

"That's kind of out there."

"Not really. Take the sun. It's the same type of thing. All we have to prove that it is real is signals from eight minutes ago. If it were to disappear right now, we wouldn't know for nearly eight minutes."

"Ok, but the sun is a lot more important and influential."

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you don't shit your pants when you walk into that room and find out that the front door is gone." Keith laughed. He was enjoying himself. He was lost in this strange old man's world, and it was fun.

"I'll give you that. So, what's your point?"

"I want to tell you a story, or 'mind experiment' might be more appropriate, that Plato told once. Imagine that you were born in a cave, and from the moment that you were born, you were locked in one, unchanging position. Complete darkness, all you could look at was whatever the owner of the cave wanted you to look at. You would grow up not knowing about some of the most basic things all people consider normal, even essential, and you would consider it to be "life". Imagine, no movement. No eating what isn't given to you. No seeing trees, or the sky, or another person, or thinking about what you going to do this afternoon. Now imagine that there were in fact other people in this cave, in the same situation. Imagine one escaped somehow, and was free to explore the world in a way never before imagined. He would learn about walking, about eating, about seeing and believing and everything that makes this world beautiful. Then he comes back to tell his friends in the cave. His friends would be afraid, and the natural reaction to fear is to fight. They would shun or make fun of him for his strange ways. But he would persist, and eventually he would free another. Then they would try to free another. Imagine that this world could be so much more. Imagine that there are things out there that you can't even imagine because you have no idea that it is even possible. Wouldn't you fight for that, given the opportunity?"

Keith had sat in his chair quietly, listening. He looked up at the man.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that happiness is a stone's throw away." He smiled, and his eyes glinted strangely, as if he knew a secret beyond imagination, and Keith believed it. "In the cave, you were happy because you were ignorant. Ignorance is bliss, no? But there is a whole new level, a whole new world. However, one has to remember that the world is inherently dual. A whole new world of happiness can bring despair on a grander scale. To be happy, you must give up or fight. Give up and sink to a lower level where happiness is easier to obtain, or fight the bad things in life to know the whole truth. Those that are too tired to fight give up. Both achieve happiness, but on different levels."

"Isn't suicide a ticket to hell?"

"It probably is, but I'm not talking about that. You realize that in ten thousand years over one hundred thousand different religions have been created? Probably more? It is already widely known among scholars that the most basic building blocks of any religion are simply copied or changed from generation to generation to fit the times."

"Even Christianity?"

"Especially Christianity. Think about it, would gays have been accepted at any church even ten years ago? That is already a major doctrinal difference between generations. Read the Bible sometime, I mean critically. It hasn't withstood a critical examination since the twelfth century. I'm not saying it's a bad book; it has inspired people to do so many great and wonderful things. It has withstood centuries simply to guide the average Joe through life and help him feel his best about it. That's what religions are for. They make people feel like they are living for a reason, or to be happy."

"So your an atheist?" The old man smirked.

"I wish. I'm not decisive enough to be an atheist. I still believe in God, always have, always will. I'm just not sure about all the things that go along with Him. Or rather, the things we say that go along with Him." Keith lowered his head. This was a great deal to take in on such short notice. He tried to remember how this conversation started. The man apparently read his thoughts.

"Remember how we started this?"

"I was just thinking that."

"A key thing I want you to take away from this conversation is this: knowledge can bring happiness or despair, the more knowledge, the more potential for good things or bad things. If you choose to fight the possibility of being unhappy, to learn things and know the truth, then you will be happier than you thought possible. The alternative is to stay in the cave and be happy with what you have. Is ignorance bliss? Maybe. It doesn't matter. You will be happier easier, but not as much as you could be. It's your choice. Do what you want with it."

Keith sat there for a few more hours, discussing with the man whole new areas of his life that he didn't even know existed. He left feeling satisfied with his life. He felt like he could make it. He felt like he could take it and he would be glad to do so. But most of all he had learned how to look at things differently, or rather how to look at the world with a different color of shades on. And he was happy.

I just want to say that this was heavily inspired by the book "God's Debris" by Scott Adams. Read it.