The Philosopher: Timothy Nichols '20
A barren room, shown in its plainess to be but a doored box. Two furnishings disguise the box as a home: a blue, plumed cushion, centrally placed, and a mahogany bookcase scraping the heaven of the room; the children of philosophers stacked the shelves. A man sits regally atop the pillow. A meditative, unassertive entity. Lacking in enmity, a friendly man. The name which he bore was one of of a seeker; a testament to his dedicated purpose. Emmet was intellectualy prone, a mind of stone, finely robed, a covering of red and gold. From the bottom he grew himself, with no money he survived, with no support he formed his own sound philosophy. What is his essence? A partiality of imaginative consciousness. Exploratory and non-ordinary, orderly giving form to reality. Dexterity of thought making the continuation less of meaning, yet more of content. A progressing interpretation of pointlessness, purpose to find something further. To find a thought which is truthful. Emmet knows chaos never breeds order, but how is he to know a tempest isn’t order under guise presented? A fundamental, non-ornamental, perception of the world on the most basic level. A mental standard, in a temporal moment, on an appreciable foundation is desired, yet Emmet finds no soil within his flesh in which to grow this root of reality. His stock of less existence demanded assurance in the path to somewhere, yet the meandering of his certainty could not hold within and without the supremacy of his own being. And in so desiring understanding, he perpetuated a potential purity by consenting for a constant impersonal contradiction. Stillness with introspection, Emmet shifts and changes over time, never holding a constant truth. A truth which only becomes obvious on death’s side of the door. What is his change?
The robed figure collapses forward, the cushion rejoicing freedom, the floor welcoming him, the bookcase standing silent. A posthumous breath departs between his parted lips. A breath of understanding. A breath from a man who had thought he could kill God. Emmet was no longer, nor had he been but Eker. For feeble was his dedication to all truth that was outside himself*. Outside his understanding. Neither humility nor wisdom made him anything other than what he was.
-Timothy Nichols '20
*(Emmet is a Hebrew name which can mean truth, while Eker is a Hebrew name which can mean feeble)