I’ve witnessed a load of conversations that circulate the topics of the existence of a force named god, war, etc. Why must we try to solve the issues between our fellow human being with artistry that is constructed solely for the sake of robbing another being of life and achieving goals on this level of living?
I spoke with a woman on the other day and as she spoke of her journey to see her ill mother, I was struck by the candid demeanor used to speak of treating her mother. We exchanged occupation details after she disclosed she studied social work in Virginia. I found her work with PTSD veterans extremely intriguing since I had begun reading the few pages of Three Guineas and the subject of the usefulness of war was made evident in the opening paragraph. I was initially questioning whether it would be appropriate if I asked her opinion if war is necessary since she described her patients in a way that made one aware of her passion in assisting both recent and elderly veterans of war but I resisted the impulse because she seemed to be as free as the air, with hair as bright as the colors of an autumn tree. It was clear the job was draining but the questions I asked about suicide were accepted and answered with a sort of wide-eyed appreciation of my awareness of the profundity of unnatural consequences upon the human mind’s affection for escape and finality. Such is the humorous thing about life–the lack of finality even after death. We should not expect answers if one’s dilemmas or solutions to one’s problems because the more one hopes, the longer the process will be in which one will find a momentarily viable option, upon which one will invariably question the validity of something of a dramatic sort.
I am anxious to see how Virginia’s elaboration of war’s validity will flutter in the mind’s planetarium of thought.