The Companion

Few other things could be as helpful and powerful as one's own honest understanding. Experts' opinion, or the collective knowledge, nothing could come to help, if you, yourself can't truly realize and 'feel' it. This is where the idea of owning something gets so desirable. Something nobody can take away from you, something you can use at your own convenience is central to our way of living.

On this merit, I am well enough convinced to express that, a 'good' book is perhaps only second to one's own personal experience, and only if (the experience) was accurately appreciated for its complete value. Or else, a book would be the first one in queue.

Historically, for most of us, (biological) family is the first place where we begin to discover support from external world and get used to its comforts. For genetic advantage, these supports (all kinds, mental, physical, social, so on) are provided to us with such degree of generosity that, we tend to either loose the idea of ownership, or get started to believe that, we actually do own them. By 'them', I meant those help that we receive and by 'own'ing I mean the feeling that these helps are as if 'supposed' be awarded for some ethical or whatever reason.

I don't know about many others, but from my personal experience, I find it that, the chance of getting out of this illusion is probabilistically not very high. Even in grown up days, we continue to remain dangerously vulnerable to be critically dependent on others (may be society, friends, other entities or anything external that provide us with support) for our psychological and existential fitness. It's not too hard to see why it does not sound very promising for our survival value. For one thing, it depends heavily on something that is after all, not guaranteed by any sorts of rational consequences. Nevertheless, this is a very strong trait, perhaps a genetic one; possibly intensified more among some cultures than other, but threatening enough to be taken seriously for all practical reasons for goodness.

The solution to this is obviously beyond the capacity of one prolonged thinking, but it seems very intuitive to claim that, the first step would be to appreciate its existence. Far too many problems exist for too long, not just because they are impossible to be solved (although they as well might be), but because of the failure on the victim's part to actually recognize it. (In programming we have a buzz for it, "debugging", (the word "de-'bug'ging" has an interesting piece of real story attached it, yes Google it out :))). So let not this illusion of absence keeps us away from the real illusion (!). That would indeed mean a dead end for any kind of progress.

For this very step towards "conscience-growing" (borrowed from Dawkin, whose name I think is kinda funny as it always passes into my ears as two separate words Darwin, and Hawking) about the problem can indeed be very hard as well. And the best refueling station I could see for this kind of weaknesses (this weakness is something that most of us have), could be found, if searched with honest patience, in books. They are the best speakers of all times. A book can talk to you in your most convenient time and disposition at your utmost pleasing place, with the most suitable speed and volume, no matter who you are and what you do. Books are best companions at your good times and only more so in worst times. They can 'give' you something, an opportunity to 'buy' bits and pieces of invaluable consciences itself, to make it your own forever, firmed and fixed, without the fear of being stolen or snatched away, should difficult time comes. They offer you the greatest gifts of all, the building blocks of your imagination, the very you think, believe, realize, love and feel. They literally build your mind with 'bricks' for which the ownership is conferred to you completely in good faith. I could hardly think of anything better, and selfless, and true, and timeless. I gradually and deterministically fall for them, with all my hearts and conscience, part of which is gift; as my mind follows but an inescapable route to the marriage of our majestic companionship.