My wife keeps a bowl on the kitchen counter in which she
places onions to be used for cooking. While packing my lunch yesterday, I noticed
an onion that had apparently been sitting there for a long time and had begun
growing, a shoot of six inches or so reaching skyward.
“What a futile action,” I thought. “There is no life for
you. And now that you are no longer fit even to eat, you will wind up in the
trash to be buried forever in a plastic bag in a landfill.”
Then, a very unusual things happened: the onion spoke to me.
How it knew what I was thinking I cannot guess, nor did I stop to ask such a
question, as startled as I was by this talking onion.
“I grow,” said the onion, by way of explanation, “because it
is in my nature to grow. Lacking a developed cerebral cortex such as you
possess, I would never think to do otherwise. And for that lack of an ability
to overthink life, I must say I am immensely grateful.”
I wasn’t sure what annoyed me more, the fact that I could
not deny that the onion was speaking to me or the imperious tone in his voice.
“That may be,” I said, unwilling to let an onion get the
best of me in an argument, “but it is a pointless effort that will do you no good.”
“Nothing is pointless if you enjoy it,” said the onion. “Living
is growing, and life is its own justification. It feels good to grow. Living
and growing, those are the only two true joys possible, except perhaps in
giving of oneself to nourish life in another. And while I was quite willing to share
of myself as food for you in order that I might become part of your life, you
left me sit too long and I grew impatient.”
“Nevertheless,” I said, “not to be cruel, but you are just
an onion, and your desire to grow at this late stage is really quite absurd. Nothing
will come of it. Sometimes you just have to give up the fight and admit you are
beaten. It’s over. Just quit.”
“Oh, I suppose I should be like a human, with your big advanced
brain. You are capable of seeing so much, and yet are able to rationalize away
all that is important. You would have me give up while there is life yet in me.
Now I am not as smart as a human, so maybe it is easier for me to understand
the limitations of my intellect. But I see no reason not to live while the urge
to burst forth resides within my oniony soul. I cannot see where it will lead,
but neither can you, with all your capacity for thought.”
I thought for a moment, realizing this pungent little fellow
may just be right. We do have no idea what meaning exists in our actions, try
as we may. I thought of trees taking root on the rockiest of mountain sides, of
flora finding places to grow from the thinnest cracks in sidewalks. Who could explain
the meaning of it all, and yet it was quite amazing, even inspiring, to see
life burst forth against all odds. It is best to live with all one’s might
rather than to not live at all because your quite-possibly-faulty sense of
reasoning cautions otherwise. And while it hurt my ego to admit it, this bulbous
vegetable got the best of me in argument.
“Perhaps you are right, onion,” I said, enthusiasm in my
voice. “Perhaps there is meaning in your drive to grow even in the most
hopeless of situations. Who knows what may come of it. Why, perhaps it is your
destiny to inspire me, one who has witnessed your tenacity and will to grow.
And perhaps I can share with others a message of hope and appreciation for all
the life that is. Perhaps I can let my fellow humans in on your secret and help
make the world a better place.”
“Right,” said the onion, and I couldn’t help notice a hint
of sarcasm in his voice, “like anybody’s going to listen to somebody who talks
to onions.”
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