Here and now

"Here and now, boys," the bird repeated yet once more, then

fluttered down from its perch on the dead tree and settled on her shoulder.

The child peeled another banana, gave two-thirds of it to Will and offered

what remained to the mynah.

"Is that your bird?" Will asked.

She shook her head.

"Mynahs are like the electric light," she said. "They don't belong to

anybody."

"Why does he say those things?"

"Because somebody taught him," she answered patiently. What an

ass! her tone seemed to imply.

"But why did they teach him those things? Why 'Attention'? Why 'Here

and now'?"

"Well ..." She searched for the right words in which to explain the self-

evident to this strange imbecile. "That's what you always forget, isn't it? I

mean, you forget to pay attention to what's happening. And that's the same

as not being here and now."

"And the mynahs fly about reminding you—is that it?"

She nodded. That, of course, was it. There was a silence.


Aldous Huxley "Island" online