by James Murphy
James’s purity was a keystone for positive energy to flow across the land, expediting the passage of the Holy Spirit from lifeform to lifeform. Now his energy was removed from the land he walked, and life was being sucked out of it as a result. The ecology was out of harmony now, and the land was filled with greed and gluttony without a pure heart free to walk to fields. James began dwelling on it. “Maybe that’s what all those hearts on Sweet Grass Hill meant?” he thought. Maybe James was Mother Nature’s favorite son. It was a delusional thought, but Native Americans prayed to the Earth for centuries. The Earth reciprocated that love, and now those believers were few and far between. James caught himself cynically dwelling on consumer culture, and got up and walked out of the lounge. He needed to put some distance between himself and the media. He went into his room and laid down. As he laid there he couldn’t get the thousands of thoughts about Montana and his spirit to slow from filling his head. He walked to the end of the south wing and looked out the window. The sun seemed to scorch the horizon, but all James could feel was the chill of the air conditioning of the Seventh Floor. “This is my apocalypse,” James thought. Freedom was the only cure for James’s ailments. He suffered from psychosis derived from the burdens of First World society. He was asked to provide flesh for thousands, and it got to him. Around every corner, the breath of evil breathed hot on his neck, and it got to him. Now he was locked up on the Seventh Floor and the walls and the professionals were beginning to get to him. The Seventh Floor was its own hell. The place was so confined that time and space lost all correlation. There was so little natural light to give the Seventh Floor proper dimension, and shapes began to shift. Hallways seemed to stretch on into the forever darkness. The ceiling seemed to crush down from above, and the walls closed in from all sides. He closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. His thoughts weren’t as morbid as they were when he left Montana, but James was definitely not in any better shape. He no longer contemplated shoving his steel deep into the fat hearts that walked the streets of Cut Bank, but he couldn’t find the peace of mind that would allow him to live as happily as the masses. There was so much evil thrown in his face that he just couldn’t ignore it all. He saw the gentle doe-eyed look in the cattle just before they were slaughter, and he slowly progressed from that look through the hide, and the meat all the way down to raw bone with blood on his face and a knife in his hand. He had no comfort upon his return home. The selfish luxury of that big red Dodge stared him straight in the face and he couldn’t ignore its hot breath of evil on his neck. He became the disenfranchised and stood alongside comrades like Paahsaakii, a man deferred by his culture because of his faith in peyote. He stood with comrades like Neal, a man denied of simple pleasures like a hot shower and a comfortable bed because of the value of the almighty dollar. He stood with men like Ryan, who would never find satisfaction in this material world. James was just a little too sensitive, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally.
When dinner was over, James got a surprise. His mother came to visit.
“I need to get out of here. This place is just making things worse.”
“Just give it some time, buddy” she said.
“You don’t understand. I’m getting worse!”
“James you’re scaring me. I don’t think you’re healthy enough to live at home right now.”
James was irritated, and got up and left his mother in the dining hall. He felt abandoned. When he returned to his room, he found Neal sitting on his bed just looking out the window. He looked so peaceful that it brought a reverence over James’s soul. James felt energy eminating from Neal that rode a mellow frequency. It undulated with mild amplitude, and a wavelength that connected all five faculties with the heart and soul. James’s mind came to ease, and all the emptiness he had been feeling all day melted away when he shared the company of the old, black hobo.
“How can you be so satisfied being in here?” James asked.
“I’ve had plenty of fast livin’. Sometimes you need some slow. You know, out there isn’t always pretty. Livin’ on the streets you see a lot of ugly things. Tell me son, what’s got you so out of sorts?
“I guess all that ugly in the world got me in this mess.” James paused for a second then Neal aksed,
“What do you mean? You’re hardly ripe. If you’ve seen a third of the ugly in this world, then you’ve been livin’ too fast, boy.”
“I worked in a slaughter house in Montana for the past five years.”
“Tell me, what was so bad about that?” Neal asked.
“I guess being covered in blood, cutting meat for 70 hours a week got to me. I just felt like a mule for all the greedy pigs in this country. I had no one to come home to. I never made love to a woman, and that’s no way to spend the last five years of your youth. I just had too much of it all, and when I came home I just felt so angry with everything that I just snapped.”
“Greed is the smelliest of all the vices.” Neal said. “I’ve seen men killed over just a few bucks, but you know a man who is slow to anger is more powerful than the mighty.”
He took Neal’s words to heart. He found an angle that gave him one up over Dr. Chode. The thought of temperance towards everyone and everything that antagonized James was like an epiphany. It sparked hope and confidence in James. Likewise, he felt better just getting what laid at the heart of his anguish off his chest. It was the first time James explained his disposition to anyone in any coherent fashion. Every time someone asked him what the problem was, James was so disheveled that he only gave a round-about answer. Talking to Neal in that moment changed something in James. He quit feeling sorry for himself, and began to feel sympathy towards the people he judged so much. He still wasn’t alright. That callousness towards mortality, and Coyote’s prophecy still gripped him, just a little less tightly. At least now he was being a bit more straight foward, and it felt good. It was a real break-through along his introspective journey. He felt like he was connecting with reality. He watched the pink sky fade to indigo, then walked to his bed and fell asleep.
Chapter 7
James rose long before breakfast on the 6th day of his stay on the Seventh Floor. He walked to the window of the east wing and watched the sun rise. He stood at the window just watching the orange ball burn through the mist. He stood there for nearly an hour enjoying the peace. It was a comfortable change from the craziness that usually stirred all waking hours of the day. The nurses were doing paperwork, the psychiatrists weren’t in yet, and there was a somber vibration humming through the troubled minds of the Seventh Floor. James was optimistic he would be leaving soon. After breakfast he sat in his room waiting for his appointment with Dr. Chode.
“Why don’t you talk to me?” Dr. Chode asked.
“I do talk though.” James replied coolly.
“No, no.”
James was as cool as the deep blue sea, but Dr. Chode was feeling bored and wanted to put the screws to James.
“When are you going to release me. There were people here who only stayed two or three days, then you sent them home. I recovered. I don’t feel crazy anymore.”
“Ah, so you felt crazy? Look, your parents don’t want you. I can’t send a crazy man to a residence that doesn’t want him.”
“If you keep me here I will be crazy. I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shake.”
That last thought pissed off Dr. Chode
“This meeting’s over.”
“I’m not done talking to you!” cried James as Dr. Chode walked out of the room. “That bastard! I’ll sue him for malpractice when I get out of here!” James thought. He was angry for the rest of the day. He had no appetite and didn’t touch a piece of food at lunch. James tried to channel his anger during arts and crafts. He braided a necklace, but the whole while hatred was brooding within him. Everything he touched he wanted to break. Everyone he looked at he wanted to beat the shit out of. Dr. Chode cornered James, and he had James just where he wanted him. Dr. Chode knew just how to manipulate
patients he wanted to black-ball; twist words around until the patient becomes so angry and neurotic that no professional would ever believe that they are mentally healthy. James came in a little delusional and detached, now new delusions were forming in his mind, delusions accompanied by an anger rooted in truth. James was in a new slaughter house with a much greedier boss-man. Dr. Chode wanted the butcher to taste the blood and grow eyes filled with bewilderment. Dr. Chode wanted James to stand by as he destroyed something beautiful. His actions sent James further not only into anger but psychosis. James’s personal uprising angainst greed was met by a greedy man. Dr. Chode had a thirst for power that could only be quench at the cost of his patients’ sanity, and he knew all the tricks. James was in limbo. He was nothing but raw emotion at this point. He needed someone to offer their condolences, but his mother was too naïve to understand what got him into this mess in the first place. All the professionals wanted to put the screws to James, and none of the patients could both understand what was bothering him and sympathize with him at the same time. James began looking beyond Neal for companionship. Everyone who was legitimately insane salivated over the idea of being covered in blood with a knife in hand for 70 hours a week. James didn’t dare talk to any of the patients about his peyote experience. It wasn’t so much that James understood how dangerous such a topic would be on the Seventh Floor, but he valued it sacredly, and didn’t want to pollute the most spiritual experience of his life with a half-baked conversation about peyote. It wasn’t about getting high. It was about a realization of the forces beyond humanity. Those forces moved James through the human dimension in such an awkward and uncomfortable manner that any divinity that sided with James owed him something deep. His payment was brewing but it wasn’t quite ripe yet.
James was in his room when Neal ambled in as casually as a free man on a Sunday stroll.
“Man, ya got me itchin’. What’s this Sweet Grass Hill about?” Neal asked.
“It’s a holy place to western Native American tribes, mostly the Blackfoot. You wanna hear a story, Neal?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Long ago before the time of man, when animals could move back forth from the spirit world, all the animals could talk. Then Apistotoke, the creator, created Naapi, the old man. When Apistotoke created Naapi only one animal could keep his power to talk to people. So, to decide which animal could talk, Apistotoke said ‘Let there be a great race. Whoever wins can talk to Naapi.’ So, all of the animals lined up. Coyote, Tortise, Frog, Sparrow, Buffalo, and many others were all there. Apistotoke waved his arm and all of the animals raced off. Buffalo and Sparrow were far ahead of everyone else. They were closing in on the finish line and Buffalo was in the lead. At the last second, Sparrow flew up and landed on Buffalo’s nose, and Sparrow crossed the finish line first. That is why the men and birds can talk together today.”
Neal laughed. He liked the story. He was just hip enough to appreciate a good trickster like Sparrow.
“We don’t really ‘talk’ to birds, but I dig that story man. Tell me man, where did you hear that story.”
“A medicine man… of sorts. His name was Paahsaakii which means firefly.” James replied.
“Cool.”
“I’ve been to the prairie, the mountains, and the coast, but I’ve never been to the desert. That’s one place I’d love to see!” exclaimed James.
“Nothing but sand, isn’t it?” Neal questioned.
“Nah, man. I hear in the spring there isn’t a place more beautiful, wildflowers, prickly pear, oasis. You just have to watch out for snakes and scorpions at night.” James replied.
“Yeah, boy, that sounds nice! Flowers and the warm sun, mm mm mm.”
Neal’s response cooled James, and got his mind off of things. He was back on the good news. Neal seemed to have that effect on James. He grounded every lofty delusion, reminding James to be humble, and he cooled James’ anger with the soothing roll of his voice. Neal didn’t know it, but he taught James a fundamental rule of humanity: Never expect much out of people. You won’t be angered as easily, and every once in a while a person will greet you with warmth and generosity, and you will be pleasantly surprised. Essentially, Dr. Chode was no different than any other person James had ever met before. He lived to satisfy his own thrills. Energy either forced its way against Dr. Chode or with him. James let the heat of their disputes mellow when it was with Chode, and he rolled with the momentum when it was going against Dr. Chode. Everyday, he walked into James’ room and gave him guff and pushed all his button. And everyday James found a way to come back to a cool head. He worked diligently at all the things the professionals said he needed to work on. He was generous with his time and thoughts. He was prudent and patient enough to avoid the traps and treachery laid out before him, but Dr. Chode was relentless. He wanted to see James go someplace dark, some place darker than where he was when he came to the Seventh Floor. Dr. Chode knew post-traumatic stress disorder was a real possibility for James’s condition. James wasn’t watching people die or killing them, but rather fattening them while he got eyes full of blood for 70 hours a week. An experience like that could leave any man delusional and hostile, but Dr. Chode wanted to see James more psychotic than the schizophrenics on the Seventh Floor. He wanted to see James fall to his knees and wail for salvation with no rhyme or reason. He wanted to hear James have conversations with himself about the most indecent and grotesque things imaginable. He wanted to see James laugh and cry outrageously for no reason at all. He wanted James to feel trapped. By the time James was ready to turn in every night, he beat Dr. Chode at his own game. All James had to do was remember the stories he told Neal. It reminded James of Sweet Grass Hill. It reminded James of the love and power of the Great Judge and Creator. Those thoughts cooled James’s head and heart without limits, and James was beginning to frustrate the Dr. Chode. It was a battle of vice and virtue and James was winning.
Chapter 8
The next three days passed with increasing tension. James was getting anxious for his meeting with the professional who would make the ultimate decision whether he was to stay or be released. He passed the time sharing stories with Neal and some of the nurses. All the nurses kept telling James that he made great progress and he would be off the Seventh Floor in no time. When he came in, he was erratic and impulsive. His actions were the result of raw emotion. He fought with his muscles and not his mind. Then, he found adversity in the confines of the Seventh Floor. The isolation was challenging. The social environment was damning at its least. He did some soul searching in the ten days he had been there, and he was in the process of conditioning his mind into something beautiful; an item of temperance and keen rationale. He was faced with antagonism towards the thing a person holds closest to their heart: Their ideas. Dr. Chode worked hard to steal and contort James’s ideas, but it wasn’t working. James’ spirit grew stronger while he was on the Seventh Floor. He definitely was not the same man who came in. He lost all the hatred that had built up from working out in Montana. He didn’t hold a man’s taste for beef against him. James was beginning to see it as just another sacrifice we make to have pleasant lives.
On the tenth day of his stay it was finally time to meet with the professional. James walked into the cafeteria and took a seat next to his mother. The professional sat opposite them. This professional had no concept of psychological well-being. Her entire evaluation of James was based off of Dr. Chode’s records, and she was too blind to see past all of the doctor’s bullshit. Her entire understanding of mental health was built around the dogma of western medicine, a dogma written by the “sane” as they observed the “ill.” The mind is not something defined by hard facts. It is a product of its environment, something that hungers for harmony more than anything. But, what would bring James harmony? The professionals didn’t have the slightest bit of real insight. It was one-sided, and the deck was stacked against James. He had high hopes. He expected to be released and feel the sun shine down on his face for th
e first time in ten days. He was glowing with unmatched charisma when he walked into the room.
“James,” the professional began, “We’re meeting here today to discussing how you will be cared for once you are released.”
“I don’t think I need any further care. Since I arrived ten days ago, I have felt changes in my psyche and a great deal of moderation in my emotions.” James rebutted.
“That’s good, and that’s what we were hoping for but we need long terms results. The Seventh Floor can be a very comforting place. The stress level here is much lower than in the real world. We need to make sure you can adapt and function in society, and maintain healthy personal relationships. Right now your social skills are, well, less than satisfactory according to Dr. Chode”
James was getting the run-around and it was as chafing as sweaty ass-cheeks on long summer’s walk. He wanted to call the professional a quack. What she was saying was a lie contorted into the ugliest of beasts, pig-nosed, and yellow-eyed, slithering on its belly, leaving behind a trail of slime. Everything she said couldn’t be further from the truth. The stress level wasn’t anywhere near comfortable on the Seventh Floor. The small society of all the mentally-ill patients and the greedy disposition of the psychiatrists created vibrations with ultrasonic frequencies so fierce that the strongest of minds would crack under them. It was rowdy and over medicated with psychiatrists hunting and slaughtering patients. It was a treacherous place. At first glance it didn’t look like there was much to instigate the emotions, with its big comfortable chairs, air-conditioning, dim light, and white walls. But, once you dig a little deeper it was more chaos than any free man should be asked to handle. It was a circus and Dr. Chode was the ring leader. He had every professional under his thumb, and every patient at wits end. They were diminished to nothing more than creatures of fear and anger.