I was reading an article on mental health in an old issue of Time. It went over a lot of old ground of how medicine needs to take into account the body and vice versa. Physicians explaining various therapies, drugs and such, wrote most of the pieces. While a whole slew of issues like usefulness of meditation, prayer etc to bodily and mental health were discussed; they hardly talked about the social aspects of health. And I think that’s a big hole in thinking about such issues. Mainly because human beings as we exist function as a community and a society and if as the statistics show (30,000 suicides due to depression alone last year and at least a book a month narrating a personal story of fighting some form of depression) the current society seems to be plagued by mental problems, I think it’s important to think about the connections between the community and the individual. And perhaps such thinking might be useful to see how we can live in more harmony rather than in opposition with it.

Wendell Berry in his book of essays, the Art of the Commonplace, points out that while health seems to share the same root as other words like, “wholeness” and “holy”, modern medicine seems to treat health as a fixable problem. He also asserts that wholeness can be only achieved by belonging to a community. He says that we can chose between belonging to a responsible community which might be limited or a limitless meaninglessness. While most of his views are too radical for mainstream consumption I think he has a point given the large-scale meaninglessness I seem to observe in the urban jungle. The city seem to be a diffused ecosystem merely consisting of sub ecosystems like clubs providing a more concentrated forum where one can pay to get in and experience more of such meaninglessness. And then perhaps wake up next morning, with a stranger in the bed, to only wonder why these lives don’t seem to have any value or meaning!

Two friends of mine, a successful businesswoman and a successful architect, seem to be a case in point. The lady had struggled with her own mind for many years now. When I found that out, I thought it was a very strange thing that she had to endure so much obvious pain while the man seems to have done well in living an almost parallel life. Then I think some of it has to do with the depth of the connections the lady perhaps didn’t have with her community and more importantly the natural world. Even each of their individual dwellings seems to reflect this distinctiveness. She lives high up in the city sky in a skyscraper, where the view overlooks the city and he in a place that overlooks a green wood. She has a very clinical apartment furnished with a lot of fine things while his is a house filled with things that connect him back to the community to which he belongs and back to the natural world.

Anyway, like I was saying, I had a lot of company. My Momma always said you got to put the past behind you before you can move on. And I think that's what my running was all about. I had run for three years, two months, fourteen days, and sixteen hours.

• He was a lucky chap to be able to run.

You claim jealousy of my effortful ness That was not directed towards you.

See I was in a different field sowing A bitter crop. When you stopped your wagon And found me, with my strange hands Tilling the ground to a strange pattern You had to journey farther a field. You had learned that the fields were cut In straight furrows, a clean symmetry That you wanted your life to reflect.

What happened then? Did it not rain, This year, in that country of your desire? Was the soil there too shallow for seed To take root? Was it a case of bad luck?

Occasionally standing upright, from such toil, We shouted greetings across the distances, And exchanged recipes and wisdom for growth.
I kept irrigating a dying crop. You kept praying for rain.

The soil I chose returned bitter vines Instead of golden stalks of corn. Their roots were hidden deep in the soil, I saw them and yet didn’t recognize them For their hidden potencies to destroy.

This must then be the cost of learning: how to chose and how to pray.

We meet again at the campground, in the harvest fair. I come with an empty sack and a watering can. You are standing beside your wagon, you make to say: “I was waiting for you to come”. I am taken by surprise I begin to ask, “Why were you waiting? What kept you From going further into the frontier?” You gaunt face Stops me, I read your story by scanning it with Blind eyes. Your face is crisscrossed in Braille.

You are tired and thirsty. I am hungry and tired. We sit, I tilt the can and start to pour. Drink now, drink deep. This water is all I can give. Other things can wait. Other things we can later decide.