The Very Hungry Abyss

The abyss is a terrifying sight, if it can be called such. In truth, it is more of an all consuming experience that pervades every sense on the body with a gently nuanced fear. A well constructed fear, even. It wants you to scream in agony, but at the same time would love some scones. That kind of fear. The true substance of the abyss though, and the one that strikes fear deeper in the heart than anything else imaginable, is the knowledge that somewhere, deep in the darkness and even farther in ourselves, lies the inescapable, the unfathomable, and the unmerciful. There lies us.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" -You, screaming

Let us backtrack. The self is terrifying. If you imagine the greatest foe you have, a good number of you will answer yourself. Or yourself, but with an evil looking mustache. And mustache prejudice aside, this is for a very simple reason, psychologically speaking. All external enemies and forces can be beaten or avoided, but the self cannot be. Whatever you do today to defeat yourself, tomorrow you'll still be here in one way or another. And an attempt at avoidance only goes down the road of things like addiction, where there's an effort to abolish recognition of the self. And the Very Hungry Caterpillar inches into our discussion.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar, written in 1969 by Eric Carle, has sold approximately one copy for every minute of its existence. Imagine doing one thing every minute since your birth, and if you just thought of breathing or something like that you're a Cheaty McCheater Face Stupid Head. So why? Why is an arguably simple children's picture book so damn popular for so long?

Illuminati conspiracy?

It's actually a very easy answer. We are the Very Hungry Caterpillar. In Him We Trust, to extend the weird money thing. You see, TVHC has not stared into the abyss, but rather we stare into the abyss when you read about him. In the recesses of our soul lives TVHC, and reading the book is a way to have some tangible version of him to manipulate. Though we cannot manipulate the story in the basic sense of altering the process of events, we can treat it as we please. We can keep the abyss on a bookshelf, under our bed, or burn it while we paint ourselves ritualistically and kill a virgin goat free of blemishes (otherwise known as celebrating my birthday).

Even more than the fact that we can control the exposure to the abyss is what's within the actual tome. The book details the journey of TVHC as he eats almost as much as Rosie O'Donnell, progressively becoming larger and larger. In the end, he manages to metamorphose into a beautiful butterfly, much like I dream I will one day transform into someone that is excessively boy pretty.

One day...

You see, that is our desire for the darkness. TVHC eats and eats and eats, consuming our very soul. We may pretend to hold issue with this, but in all honesty we do not. Humans are a self-deprecating bunch, prone to attacks of self pity and doubt. When TVHC eats away at our soul, he's really just confirming the biases we have against ourselves. Once again, it is still important that we hold, or pretend to hold some control, over his abilities. When we externalize the abyss into the text, it allows us to decide when we cannibalize our self-esteem. We might not do it when Sally says yes to going to prom with you, but when you realize Sally only said yes to make Peter jealous you can decide your soul needs a swift kick in the nuts.

Through the consumption comes a change though, and this is the change we all hope for. Society at large puts forth this idea of character building. If there are enough struggles in life, then we will come out better for it. This belief even seeps into our guiding faiths, as seen in the Buddhist declaration that "life is a struggle."

Actually a translation error of "my wife is a struggle"

More westernized faiths hold to the dogma that the struggles in this life are simultaneously God testing our faith and a preparation for the next life, where it will be easier. TVHC completes the cycle at this point. He devours our soul, though only when we let him, to shape a better person. The leaves, the apple, everything, it's all different aspects of us that we allow ourselves to eat away at in the hopes of a perfecting of self. The desire is to reach a point where so much has been eaten away at that we are worthy to enter Nirvana/Heaven/Brahma. We systematically allow the abyss to take part of us by convincing ourselves that it is just the fat being trimmed off in the pursuit of a grander goal.

At this point there may be a question. "If TVHC is the abyss," you stupidly state to an inanimate computer screen, "why is it the one that transforms? Wouldn't we expect it to die for eating the unwanted parts of the being?" Decent question, I'm glad I asked. You see, here's where the human tendency of self-deprecation comes back into play.

"Remember me? I'm the reason you drink too much!"

We fear we're the abyss to someone else. We are terrified that when we see a version of ourselves in the abyss, it's really just a mirror. If we are TVHC, it means that we're the ones taking all the unwanted qualities of someone else onto ourselves. Whether it be the parent or the friend, it's the thought that instead of becoming better for our struggles, we're actually becoming worse. And that is why the book is so popular. It says that TVHC is the abyss, collecting the scraps of someone's life, but instead of dying or becoming as big a douchebag as your Uncle Bob, he transforms. The Very Hungry Caterpillar achieves perfection through his imperfection. Isn't that what we want?

Yes.

It is. We don't want to cast off parts of ourselves. As flawed as we may be, we like who we are. So therein lies the hope and the dream. TVHC took what was undesirable in us, thanked us for the snack, then reached a higher state. A menagerie of doubt and pity that we feed him allows him to change into a butterfly, beautiful and free. We fear the abyss and we fear that we are the abyss, but TVHC takes both those fears and soothes them. He tells us that it's okay to be imperfect. There's no real problem in drinking one more soda or taking one more bump of cocaine, or maybe like eight more bumps at the same time, because somewhere in that mistake lies the possibility to become a new, better being. The butterfly is not the self wiped free of flaws. Rather, the butterfly is those flaws being experienced and then a decision being made, free of dogmatic rule, as to what to do with those flaws. The Very Hungry Caterpillar is the worst us, changed into the best.