again and again

"...I say that the true artist-seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience."

J.D. Salinger, Seymour: An Introduction

"That again, that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."

I walk this land, repeating this to myself. Over and over, wherever i go. One day, while walking along a country road, i encountered a farmer and his pig. This was no ordinary pig, i was to learn, unless you expect most pigs to be the kind that sing - which some of those amongst us do, however we usually expect in the end, whether they sing or not that they will end up as bacon on the farmer's plate. Not this farmer. This farmer loved this pig. True, the farmer ate pork and true he had thought of eating this pig who was juicy and round and perfect in every piggy way. But above all of this, the farmer loved the singing. He listened to the pig singing, letting the pig sing whenever it wanted to. The pig loved singing above all else.

Well, on this day, the farmer was discussing a serious matter with the pig. You see, the pig had become restless and frightened. The pig knew that the farmer would never eat it but couldn't help take notice the farmer's taste for bacon, his longing for ham, and the agitation and terror were just too much to handle. So the pig was asking the farmer if it could leave. The farmer protested and tried to reassure the pig, but the pig had made up its mind.

The pig left to go live with people who never eat pigs. This would make the pig feel more at ease because it believed it signaled a respect they had for pigs he currently lacked. The farmer felt empty as he watched the pig leave, for the song had departed from his life. I turned to continue on my way along the country road, but not before offering my condolences to the farmer.

"That again that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."

A year or two later, i happened upon this farm again. I had expected it to be under a deep shadow, but to my surprise it was as vibrant a farm as when i'd first encountered it. The pig had apparently returned. The pig's new home turned out to be a disappointment. You see, the people there didn't avoid eating pig out of a respect for the animal, but refused to eat them because they found them to be filthy animals. They would not eat our pig, thankfully, but worse, they outright rejected its song - no matter how beautiful it sounded. They called the pig "swine" and sent it away. After many months of wandering, the pig came to a conclusion. It offered it to me that day:

The only way I can truly be happy is to find other pigs that sing. But, as I found, there are so few of them in this world, I fear I shall never find them. Since I see more pigs on this farm than anywhere else, I rejoined the farmer and hope that one day, I will not be alone on the farm.

"That again that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."