The Purpose of Importance by Nicole Terry As anyone knows (or not, one can not be sure in these doggone days of glutton mania and tell-evision insanity) that many of we carbon-based bipeds AKA Humans ambulate round this giant planet called Earth with an orb of air wrapped tight about us, a kind of personal environment, one might say, we like to call Self Importance. Insulated in our rotund blankets, secure in our right of Importance, we, as sapient Homos thereby feel purposefull, and we call that self-contained apparatus of self-contained purpose, Life. Then, very carefully, lest the bubble should break and let the stale air of our flatulent egos, convince ourselves in perfectly rehearsed platitudes that we are content within our orbs, glowing blue in the screen of reality TV. We watch from our easy thrones (we have two from which to choose, one sterile white and porcelain, the other threadbare and lazy) at the other encased statues that have somehow been thrown in among us like lions without teeth. However, suckling at our cyan bosom we fail to realize those others are Important, and Secure with Purpose as well. Once in a great while of long drawn out moments between mediocrity and time, there comes one sans bubble. We figure, while we scrutinize the strange arrangement of creature, must be pitifully sans Importance, therefore, sans Purpose, and, by God, therefore, sans Life. For how can any self-loving, self-respecting morally Important, full of vibrant Purpose, living Homo perambulate without an orb announcing in Standard American English its Importance of Purpose? After much thought and rational deliberation from our thrones (one or the other) between meals and situational drama prescripts we conclude that this orbless cretin must be Dangerous; so should be dealt with appropriately, expeditiously, and with the utmost of moral ethic. We estimate ourselves highly Important, enough to afford the pathetic barbarian rights by its lack of Purpose. Quite rightly, we congregate by committee task force and as our duty calls for it, force through unrelenting ebullience and unctuous persistence bordering on martyrdom this awful beast into some sort of orb, however crooked it may seem at first. We are certain to round the edges with plenty of patience, perseverance, and proper chemical structuring. We are gentle—because blessed are we with Importance of Purpose—in handling our globeless friend with outrageous camaraderie hidden surreptitiously, albeit necessarily, behind violent determination. Although we do not tolerate any protest from this strange one regardless the degree of illness; we are, no doubt, the ones with Importance and Purpose, so are, in fact as well as duty, doing this poor creature a most great and humble service by being a tad rough. If the creature bleeds, we do not kill it; we mend its wounds, teach it, and illustrate how to occupy space with obedient ardor and a vivacious spirituality that rewards such dedication. We mould such animals in our image for its good and the welfare of Purpose and Importance. It is quite the difficult mission explaining to the lonely stranger that we “must encompass our selves for the profit of All Mankind. The world being capacious and intolerable otherwise, we must protect the race, mustn't we? And mustn't we preserve that protection?” We put the question before the infidel several times, always with graceful patience if we must, and we wait until the abnormal invention begins to understand the necessity of Importance and Purpose, or it would be the Death of All Mankind. Why would any upstanding, God-fearing Homo (sapien, that is) want Death of All Mankind? If the stranger does not begin to understand, that's all right too, for although the poor devil may not fully comprehend the machinations of Importance and Purpose, we can, because of our Importance and Purpose, understand its illness. We only increase our humane attempts to civilize the savage beast because in the end, we care, and our means will be justified. In the End. However, as patient as we are, we do not have eternity; if the illness prevails, we are obliged to conclude that the illness is permanent, and that we have an abomination in our midst. Benevolent and understanding as we are, we do make a final attempt at making the bizarre soul understand we have labored and slaved for its expense, its good, and the Good of All. Once done, we feel free to wipe our hands of the problem, free to return to our thrones and forget, satisfied that we have done our best. It is now Somebody Else's Problem, a problem for others who are certifiably more important and full of much more purpose than our selves, we are sure to see to that and take solace in doing so. Can we be blamed for any body's failure to see the Purpose of Importance is the Importance of Purpose? © Copyright 2008 Nicole Terry ALL RIGHTS RESERVED [back to Prose]  [more Writings]