Pulchritudinous is a five syllable word for beautiful. Rather a mouth full, it's pronounced puhl-kri-tyood-n-uh's. One would normally use beautiful or a more manageable synonym.
Zen theories: A common one is if a leaf falls in a forest and no-one hears it, it hasn't fallen.
By the way, this is by no means encapsulating of Kouichi's personality. I was just touching about the complexity of his character. And Kouichi was about as pressed for time as I was. He had other homework to do in that afternoon, so he couldn't spend too much time on it.
Anyway, enjoy and tell me what you think.
There was something beautiful in the inner folds of his psyche, but it was complex enough, at least for him, to be unwritable.
Write a two hundred word reflection on yourself. Sounds simple enough…right? But when it came to putting pen to paper, it proved far more difficult than the one sentence on the top of his homework sheet appeared to prescribe.
He bit lightly on the tip of his cap. He knew well enough it wasn't exactly hygienic or gentleman like behaviour, but he had to be doing something while thinking, and he figured it was marginally better than biting his fingernails instead (a nervous habit he had thankfully grown out of). There were several more of those, but like all habits, they were on their way out, but putting his writing utensils in his mouth was one that seemed around to stay. His mind would wander off otherwise.
And this particular piece seemed determined to make his mind wander.
Two hundred words. Where did he start, first thing?
The logical thing would be to start with the facts, at least in his mind if not on paper; the reflection warranted more depth after all. He had a twin brother, slightly younger but not his mirror image as some were accustomed to assuming on first sight. Hmm…maybe he could start with that. Those who knew him through Kouji either expected him to be the same or different. There was no grey area in between, which was where he actually sat.
But it wasn't quite as simple as that, he mused. It wasn't like his brother served as a standard he could be compared against. But they were somewhat intertwined; some of their differences were easily highlighted when they were together. Certain similarities too. It was rather odd, he mused, that he blushed far less than his brother, even when he found himself feeling awkward far more often. Some little underlining part of each of them that brought that small tidbit to the surface. And then there was-
Okay then. A different starting point. That was going to go off on too many tangents.
Hmm…he thought for a moment, fiddling around with the pen and its cap. The spirits of darkness?
He decided against that point quickly. That would certainly not fit into two hundred words. Not to mention he wasn't sure he still fully understood. There were far too many emotions. Anger, pain, hate, anguish…then loyalty, protection, justice…and what was darkness in the end? How could one differentiate it in the end?
How did others think of him? That tended to vary, and he realised after a few minutes of thought that if he attempted to collaborate all opinions he was aware of, not only would that exceed the word limit, but it would be an entirely contradictory piece of work.
Write a two hundred word reflection on yourself. How did it get so complicated?
He started writing what came to mind anyway. He supposed he could take parts that stood out and put them together. The words came easily enough, practically dancing on the page. He liked to write, but he always found there was some diminishing quality once they arose on paper.
He stopped humming the second he realised he was doing it. It wasn't like he was distracting anyone though, he noticed. The desk he was sitting at was empty, and there wasn't anyone near enough to be annoyed by the soft sound. So he picked up the tune a moment later.
It took a little while longer to recognise it. In the Blue. Interesting.
Sometimes our subconsciousness reveals things about ourselves we either don't realise or else attempt to ignore. Many times our main stream of consciousness is clouded by all the restraints we attribute to it, whether we intended it to be so or not.
He paused there, remembering Duskmon stripped of that consciousness. Whatever part of him had seeped through into the warrior's personality was not the chained mind but the truth of the heart which could not be ignored nor manipulated. He remembered some of the more reckless decisions he had made. Running after his twin in a frenzy of desperation and panic, knowing, just knowing without any sort of rationale if the boy slipped through his fingers there, he'd lose his last chance. His mind hadn't chosen that path; his heart had. And that battle with Lucemon; a split second before he had thrown himself between the orbs of light and darkness. His mind still thought to be too much afraid or else attached to be able to make such a self-sacrificing move.
It is not the mind that tells who we truly are. That is just something that has been chained, then remoulded on our imposition and the imposition of the world. The true self, the one that remains perpetually constant, is that which resides in our heart, and comes forth in what event where no barriers exist, or can ever exist. The full extent of that can, perhaps, only be explored when the final veil has been stripped from our eyes…in death.
That sounded so macabre, but once he reread it, he found he believed it nonetheless. That however led to a somewhat new train of thought.
I can be and am a lot of things, some of which are paradoxical in nature to each other. What is true and what is a mask out of those is still something that remains to be seen…for the most part. But one thing I know now for sure is that –
He stopped writing there, biting the cap just that little bit harder. He wondered how he could explain that agonizing tearing of his soul that he felt every time he had tried, as Duskmon and Velgemon, to eliminate Kouji from existence. He couldn't well explain the Digital World, nor could he honestly say he could never take revenge. After all, Kouji hadn't deserved it. And he had killed Arbomon for the simple reason that he could never be a brethren of his. He understood his lessons, but how could he make someone else understand the tangling strands that made up his soul, or those parts he knew, or thought he knew?
The teacher had actually been quite impressed, when he handed in the paper, with that last attempt written, but also rather surprised.
'It is certainly a beautiful piece of writing,' he commented, looking at his student with piercing blue eyes. 'Tell me, do you know what pulchritudinous means?'
Kouichi shook his head. He had never heard of that word before, nor did he think he would be able to repeat it. His English wasn't so bad, but the five syllable word demanded a little more tongue than he could give at the present level.
'It means beautiful,' the teacher said, closely examining the student. 'Five syllables, rather complex. One would normally use the more manageable synonyms of the word. But pulchritudinous refers to a more complex form of beauty, and while the soul, or the psyche, can be explained quite simply, it becomes harder to understand, even inexplicable, when it increases in complexity.'
Kouichi blinked. He wasn't sure he quite followed his teacher.
The man laughed. He recognised that. 'The more you think, the more you unravel, and the more you realise you don't understand or cannot explain,' he said simply, returning the sheet to its owner. 'One sentence summarising an afternoon's worth of thought and work…except for the last line, which sums up quite nicely a few Zen theories.'
- I could not live at all without the world and that in it.