KETCHUP ALLEGORY

by Brennan Underwood

"I've learnt that losing your self is bad."

"Not as bad as losing your self in another."

Somehow I don't think I've heard those words before, or at least not quite in quite that fashion, at least not coming from the one of the least likely kind of leftovers to find in one's refrigerator--to wit: a slightly wilted lettuce and cucumber salad. Such a culinary taste treat is more likely to have been quickly consumed than left for spoilage, yet there it is, not only defying this supposed truism, sitting there in apalling existence, but carrying on about the crucial keys to living in this cosmos we call ours.

Could it be the tilt of the cucumber slices--slightly askew in a cocky fashion--or the jaunty brown spots on the leaves that alert me to the possible greater than average potential in this particular arrangement of greens? More likely, it is the fact that it is holding forth with the ketchup, which is definitely no slouch in these existential matters, or so it might think.

I become fascinated with the possibility that I may be able to communicate with this leafy pile of fetid wisdom. The better part of valor is discretion, however, and I value discretion.

"But if that self were better forgotten?" asks the ketchup bottle. It is nearly empty of ketchup, yet so full of inquisitiveness.

"To thine own self be true, as they say," as they, the lettuce leaves, say. "But let not any one self, nor selves, fall by the wayside," add the cucumbers.

"Too true," replies the ketchup bottle humbly. "And if that self should seek to dominate all others?" it then asks.

"One cannot be less than oneself." is the cryptic reply.

"I see. And perhaps, when one differs from one's knowledge of truth, is that not a false self?" asks the ketchup bottle, building up steam.

"One cannot be more than oneself." is the cryptic reply.

"Then," cries the ketchup bottle excitedly, "one is what one is, without change or end, without lack or need, and with many facets, all differing reflections of the One True Self! Am I now enlightened?"

"Yes!" cries the spilt milk.

"Yes!" cry the sour grapes.

"Yes!" cries the little man who turns out the light. They eagerly await the salad's reply, like the little children of the universe they are, awaiting the answer that will make it all make sense, that will bring order and meaning to their pathetic semblance of lives.

But the salad says nothing.

I become aware of the coldness leaving the refrigerator, the frosted air swirling around my ankles, barely protected as they are by mismatched socks, neither of which are clean. I ignore this, of course. More important matters are afoot.

"No," I say, breaking the silence. "You are not, for you are only a ketchup bottle, very nearly empty of ketchup, and only a small thing in this universe after all!"

All of the inhabitants of the refrigerator turn their shocked gazes away from me, to the back wall, where there is nothing to shock them from their expectations. All of the inhabitants except one. The salad arrangement turns in place on the center shelf and contemplates me.

"And who, then, are you?" ask the lettuce and cucumbers in a vegetable chorus.

I contemplate this.

"And what are you?" ask the lettuce and cucumbers.

I contemplate this as well.

"And when? And where? And why?" are added to my mental load.

I contemplate for a good long while.

"I am God, of course," I finally answer. "Who are you?"

The greens simply nod.

And at that moment, I am enlightened.