elliewood | Fic: Companion, Chapter 11: Spock (2)

I have noticed that Humans, whether consciously or not, devise a seemingly endless number of ways to subvert their own intentions. This space I currently inhabit, for example, the hospital chapel, is designed to be a place of retreat and reflection, even entreaty for those whose spiritual practices involve deities. Yet the arrangements of scented flowers, the bank of candles (many of them illuminated) off to one side, and the depictions of various historical scenes rendered in segments of colored glass all invite the mind to wander, to focus on the appearance of the external surroundings rather than on the individual's own thoughts. Similarly, the spartan seating, while initially intended perhaps to disallow diversion from the mind's contemplation, shortly becomes a source of discomfort, and therefore distraction, obviating the very effect it was intended to inspire. I do not understand how Humans, with their poor mental control, can ever hope to achieve the enlightenment or peace they frequently seek when in such surroundings.

But, as this space is currently unoccupied save for myself, it is for the moment an appropriate location for me to attempt to engage in my meditative practice. For I have much to ponder.

Today has been, for the most part, a very gratifying one. I was privileged to be made aware of the awakening of the captain's mind and to be present during his efforts toward achieving consciousness. The doctor, contrary to his normal pattern of behavior, has been exceptionally cooperative and even kind toward me, his demeanor suggesting gratitude at my efforts to support the captain's recovery. The captain's own appreciation of my efforts at nursing, although not glibly expressed, was unmistakable. Thus I have had what I would largely consider a very satisfactory day.

Were it not for the fact that I retained no recollection whatsoever of the evening plans I had made with Nyota several weeks past, and in fact did not remember those plans until a few moments after she arrived in the captain's room, it would have been an excellent day. However, my disappointment relates only to my failure to remember an outing for which she had obviously spent some time preparing. I am not sorry to have spent that time as I did rather than as we had planned, but I will be certain to apologize for my neglect nonetheless.

As I reflect on the nature of that apology, I find that I can identify another element of the day's events that I would not consider to be ideal. Nyota's actions upon arriving at the hospital are causing me some small amount of concern. She seemed determined to focus all her attention on the captain to the exclusion of myself; I cannot guess whether she is angry at me for forgetting about our plans or whether she is simply too absorbed in assisting with the captain's care to spare me any consideration. I will defer judgment on that point until I can obtain more information from her. I did think it curious, however, that she displayed more affection toward him than I would have thought appropriate between a superior and a subordinate.

I admit that her behavior has also affected me in a rather unpredictable manner. I feel a certain unease, I might even term it anxiety, deep in the recesses of my mind. Small, but discernible. I can sense it but cannot rationalize it, and meditation has thus far been ineffective in inducing its dissipation. Examination reveals only that it does not lessen with time, and although it has not increased, it is still an irritant, like having a miniscule splinter in one's hand and being unable to locate it to remove it. All I can deduce about the sensation is that it began when Nyota kissed the captain and has not abated since that event.

Curious. I will continue to monitor this response.

I turn my mind away from Nyota toward the captain. Another sensation that does not abate and in fact grows stronger as time passes, the awareness that I do not wish to be in this hall of distractions where I am of no use. I have calculated that, since my arrival this morning, I have spent only 8.2% of the intervening time in active service to the captain: providing water, repositioning him, smoothing his sheets, and the like, the remainder of the day having been occupied merely by watching him and waiting for his next interlude of consciousness. I cannot rationally justify the expenditure of so much time toward doing so little. And yet, now that I am theoretically engaged in restful meditation, an activity that I can easily justify, I find myself impatient to resume the largely prodigal task of sitting by his side and awaiting his awakenings.

Impatience. Another irritation, but this one much more perceptible than that of a tiny splinter. Over the past two weeks, as I waited for the touch of his mind against mine, I occupied myself with readying his ship for his return. Now that the contact has been established, I can conceive of no desirable activity with which to occupy myself that removes me from him. Had Nyota not arrived and commanded me to leave, I should never have done so.

For while the majority of my time today was spent in inactivity, I cannot deny the exceptional satisfaction I experienced merely by being in his presence and available to him as the need arose. I found myself observing him even when there was nothing conspicuous to observe, relishing the anticipation of seeing his eyes open and focus on me, of hearing his voice, physically distorted but clearly apprehended in my mind. I refrained from further physical contact while in the doctor's presence, but I find myself relishing the anticipation of that event as well.

I open my eyes and look about this chamber, at its colors and flickering lights, inhaling the scent of its flowers and candles, distractions all of them to its main purpose. I resolve to end this contemplation of the distractions I am encountering that keep me from mine.

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