The Eternal, the Forest, and the Trees (Short Story) by Matthew Barton

The Eternal, the Forest, and the Trees (Short Story)

By Matthew Barton

Ben’s sister Addie had tried to get him to be politically active: to protest, to stay informed, at least to vote. Her efforts had never moved him. He watched her filling her mind with the opinions that were in vogue, arguing online with strangers, defining her existence by her politics. For Ben, these actions divided and fragmented the wholeness of being into a million ego-driven identities concerned with issues too small to matter in the history of life on our planet. The result was a torrent of brain activity and concern about a theoretical future, all while ignoring the beauty of the present and our connection with the infinite.

Ben appreciated this beauty and connection on his favorite bench in Hewitt Park in the Japanese-style Zen garden. There he tried to clear his mind with his mantra: In this moment, I meet the eternal.

He didn’t succeed. He worried about Addie. Lately she’d been protesting a new set of laws curtailing freedoms. There was always something. Constantly absorbed in rage or anxiety, she was on medication and slept with a mouthguard to protect her teeth in the few hours of rest she got after late-night doomscrolling. The problems of the world were wearing her mind down as well. Incapable of apathy, she took on the suffering of the entire world, despite the toll it took on her. Ben tried to get her to sit and take a break. His efforts had never stilled her.

Though she worried him, Ben tried to remain Stoic. His mind was the only thing he could control. He cleared Addie from his thoughts and returned to his mantra: In this moment, I meet the eternal. Annoyingly, his phone rang. It was a clerk from the hospital, calling about Addie. She’d had a panic attack that descended into delirium. When he arrived, she was rambling about militarization, mass detention, and fascism. She started hyperventilating and went into cardiac arrest. Moments later, she was dead.

Ben remembered a quotation he’d read on social media:

“Death smiles at us all; all we can do is smile back.” – Marcus Aurelius

Looking down on her lifeless but finally still body, Ben tried to smile. A nurse shot him a look like he was a psychopath. Embarrassed, he left.

The next day, he left for Hewitt Park as usual. The route was busier than normal, with commotion in places, sirens in others. The park sign was covered with a DO NOT ENTER notice and the entrance was fenced off. He slipped through a gap in the fencing onto his bench. He drew a deep breath; he needed to block out the noise of the world around him. He closed his eyes and prepared to meet the eternal. At this point something did meet him: a baton from a police officer to his head.

He came to in a cell. There were many others. They were haggard and hungry. It was dark, filthy, and terribly uncomfortable.

“It is not things themselves that disturb us, but our opinions about them.” – Epictetus

He tried to change his perspective. This wasn’t so bad. He imagined that he was a Buddhist monk, living an ascetic life of discipline. He found a place near the corner and sat cross-legged. He recalled his mantra. As he attempted to connect to the wholeness of being, something wet connected with his pants. It was a stream of urine from a nearby cellmate. Revolted, he cursed and got up.

That night they were loaded onto a bus and driven elsewhere. The trip took days. He was placed in another facility. Though larger, it was even more cramped. As time passed, hunger and thirst set in. Some of the weaker captives expired. Exhausted and confused, he recalled the anecdote of a Persian king who had asked his wise men for a saying that would be universally true amidst the transitory changes of human affairs. Their answer was short:

“This too shall pass.”

Abstractly, the wisdom had seemed comforting. But as the gravity of his situation settled on him, he realized that it was not only the moment but also his life that would pass. This gave him no comfort whatsoever. Finally, he asked a man beside him for information on what was happening. The man did not move. He tried a woman, but she couldn’t speak English, even when yelled at.

In the end, instead of peace and wholeness, he felt resentment. The worst part was that he didn’t even know where to direct it.

As the space swelled with captives, the weight pinned his ribs. He sank. He couldn’t draw breath. Moments later, he was dead.