Focus

It wasn't pleasant outside, although, it was oddly satisfying to hear the rain thumping down on the window panes of his room. Focus is a fickle friend, who once angered, takes a long time to be appeased. He knows, somewhere at the back of his mind, that he occasionally wanders to while looking on at the torrent of little fat drops of water that lash against his window unceasingly, quite unnervingly looking like an army of little liquid soldiers committing hara kiri against the window pane in an unceasing effort to break the glass and expose him to the hoards of little water soldiers that wait outside, that he must focus. In fact, he isn't quite sure anymore what it is he is supposed to focus on. Is he supposed to focus for the the sake of focusing?  Does he have a purpose? Or is the purpose going to show itself only once he has learnt how to focus?

Why does anybody need to focus? One of the fifty people talking inside his brain asks suddenly? Now , no matter how many people are inside your brain, there is one among them who knows what it's all about. He is the rightful occupant of the abstract space inside the brain, and is sensible enough, but alas, there are too many voices to drown him out. So he starts to answer, because this is after all a valid question. Why on earth would anybody want to focus? After all, trying to focus when your brain doesn't want to , like trying to empty one's bowel when the bowel doesn't agree with being emptied at that moment, can be extremely uncomfortable. Anyone will try to undertake such an odious task only when one needs to, so it is important to understand why one needs to, So he starts to answer, making a certain amount of sense.

But then another question, this time, another of those fifty voices asks, who cares why one needs to? All that is important that we know that it is important, unless we actually believe that this nugget of knowledge that has been distilled from thousands of years of human experience is actually false? And that would be preposterous to think. There are certain notions that one should never entertain. There is usually a pattern to generate all these notions. Take any statement that you have heard from almost everybody, of the form "doing x is good for you". If it is something you have heard from everybody, then never entertain the notion that "doing x is bad for you". Hence even entertaining the notion that there is a way to possibly live happily without actually having to focus is a dangerous path to tread. It is a path that would undoubtedly culminate in a nudist colony. Smoking weed all day, and hugging trees. In a jungle. And nobody really wants that, concluded this voice.

The rightful owner of the brain might be sensible, but that doesn't necessarily translate to anything as long as his voice isn't strong. Only when his voice is strong enough to drown out the surrounding din emanating from the various confused little demons whose sole aim seems to be to increase the disorderliness of the thought process, does the owner of the brain in which all these abstract beings reside get anywhere. The rest of the body is like a zombie that the brain, being the sole proprietor of sentience among all the organs of the body, is the master of . The body does what the brain commands. So when controls in the main control room of the brain passes around randomly in a large set of voices, all but one of whom have any idea what is going on, the body behaves like a drunk. Well, not really, because the motor skills are mostly unaffected,  each muscle of the body mostly communicates with brain well enough to know that the next step that has been decided is in such and such direction, and hence muscle no.s 453 , 455, 467, 469 will execute complicated procedure code 389 which will result in the body making a net movement of one step in the predecided direction BUT, there is mostly no correlation between one step and the next. There is no coherence, unless when food or any other basic need is involved, when the spinal cord overrides the dysfunctional brain and executes a series of precisely calculated actions that culminates in fulfilling the basic need that forced it to come into action in the first place. So how does a man with a power struggle in his brain look like?

He looks like this : He looks out the window, the rain has stopped. Seems pleasant enough outside. Like some badly drawn caricature of a blood thirsty zombie with foul fluid oozing down his mouth, he rises from his chair, and with a mad lack of purpose in his eyes, walks out to get some fresh air.