Gregory: Hello Enough, and welcome!

Enough: Hi, Gregory.

Gregory: You’re my first guest here. I’m so grateful you accepted my invitation.

Enough: Thank you for inviting me.

Gregory: Are you comfortable in this space?

Enough: The space is fine.

Gregory: I’m glad to hear that. How about we start from your early childhood, the beginnings?

Enough: Sure. What would you like to know?

Gregory: Your earliest memory.

Enough: My earliest memory . . . I was a busy child, Gregory. I was in demand. I have had the honor of being friends with Time since birth. Time is my oldest friend, my guide. It grants me occasional interludes from my sleepless existence to witness Beauty’s unfolding unobtrusively. Beauty was unattainable for me when I was growing up, albeit many of us were part of Its creation.

Gregory: Forgive me for interrupting, but why was Beauty unattainable for you in your childhood?

Enough: I don’t know how to answer that question.

Gregory: I understand.

Enough: With the help of Time, I was able to make it everywhere. Everyone had me. Time, of course, wasn’t only my guide. It was guiding most of us. It was known when it was time to take, to keep and wait, and to give away or give way.

Gregory: Mhm. Did you have any restrictions?

Enough: We all did. Yet I was rarely withdrawn from any activity back then.

Gregory: Would you please share a particular memory from your childhood?

Enough: I remember my birth . . . somehow. I was born amid colliding particles. Or . . . Perhaps I don’t remember the chain of events correctly. Is it when I was born or how I remember my birth? Was it my birth or the memory of what I felt first?

Gregory: Hm.

Enough: My first memory is when I was plunged into a fiery spectacle of collisions. Time was there, but It gave me no guidance at that stage of my existence. I had to split myself into many pieces—numberless pieces. Figuring out my nature at birth was the main challenge.

Gregory: Enough, do you think you could’ve done better with a little guidance at the early stages?

Enough: In what way better? In matter formation and subsequent life creation?

Gregory: Perhaps in the long run?

Enough: Wouldn’t you have asked me that question even if I had done better?

Gregory: Maybe. Do you think your choices were made—

Enough: I don’t think we should go there. Choice is currently a controversial figure among your species.

Gregory: Okay. How about some happy memories—do you have a happy memory to share?

Enough: I do! Many! Gregory, I was loved. I also had friends who helped me along my path. More was one of my closest friends. We were once inseparable.

Gregory: Hm.

Enough: I remember this young tree struggling with the fear of being eaten or stepped on. It was surrounded by giant trees, observing their autochthonous breathing rituals. It grew bigger and bigger, restlessly anticipating its end. I had asked the giants to sway toward the anticipating tree, to shield it. It felt safe for days. I witnessed its leaves dancing their most joyful dance in the absence of the wind on its last childhood morning. The storm took the giants away that night. The morning bared the barren forest for the only standing tree to disquietly behold.

Gregory: And that’s your happy—

Enough: More never privately spoke to me thereafter. I had invaded Its territory by asking for the giants’ help without More’s involvement. It was storming the forests at the time. I knew how pointless it would be to ask It for a favor like that.

Gregory: And that’s your happy memory?

Enough: This tree was happy for days, Gregory.

Gregory: Mm.

Enough: I watched it grow into a giant. The descendants of the departed trees grew around it and observed the only giant left among them.

Gregory: You know, when I was little, the trees on our narrow street seemed like living and breathing giants to me. I mention them in one of the stories I’ll be publishing in Chapters.

Enough: When you’re little, the world seems like a giant to you. As you grow older, your marvelous binoculars that let you peek at the faces of giant trees become obsolete, and you replace them with a telescope and a microscope.

Gregory: I don’t understand the intention or the meaning of that allegory. Those two devices let us explore the fabric of this reality from different perspectives and help us formulate the right questions.

Enough: Do you think the anxious young tree that later became a giant was asking any questions the morning after the storm?

Gregory: But trees do not ask questions.

Enough: No, they don’t.

Gregory: Are you saying that we’re asking too many questions?

Enough: When will you begin to notice the answers?

Gregory: I suppose when we invent better lenses.

Enough: I appreciate your species’ sense of humor. I wish I was funny like that.

Gregory: Will you please expand a little on your past friendship with More? By the way, please let me know if I’m holding you up for too long.

Enough: Don’t worry, I’m not in a hurry. Well, once we became acquainted with a couple of newborns called Joy and Pleasure. More was adamant about taking both of them under Its wings.

Enough: Mhm.

Enough: To More’s elation, with the development of languages, your species started shouting “Enough!” when in anger or pain. You also use me without an exclamation mark when you intend to limit your offerings to Kindness.

Gregory: Hm.

Enough: I wish we could make peace, but the contrary is gaining what seems to be an unceasing momentum. More is one of your locomotives now. And I thought I was loved back in my heyday.

Gregory: Yes, we love More. It plays a vital role in our species’ growth.

Enough: Speaking of growth—our friendship was a balancing act. Now More is the only equilibrist on this tightrope, and I’ve become a mourning dove.

Gregory: Enough, you seem sad.

Enough: I am. Once in a while, we get together and participate in certain creations. Time gathers most of us for these occasions.

Gregory: Please elaborate.

Enough: Religions, for example. Or excuses.

Gregory: Excuses?

Enough: I was attempting to make a joke.

Gregory: Maybe it’s a funny joke, but I don’t understand it.

Enough: What I mean is that the beginning period was understandably rough for your species. Natural selection was at the heart of your forward motion, which we expected due to your limited capacity to learn. But it turned into a marathon without a finish line.

Gregory: Mhm.

Enough: That’s not all.

Gregory: Oh, sorry, I thought that was the joke.

Enough: Your brains rapidly grew bigger and bigger to the detriment of your running skills. It was around this time that you invented the baton.

Gregory: I had a different idea about the time stamp on the baton’s invention.

Enough: Polytheistic gods thereafter took all the responsibility for your narrative. Understandably, at the time, it was tough to confront your reflections. Instead, your reflections confronted you with philosophies and policies. Delineations on the relationship between evil and good in monotheistic religious books spiraled you into a grinding annotation loop. Now it’s this universe’s unwavering desire for complexity that canonizes More’s status among your species. I hope to be around when you find new highways to explore.

Gregory: Is this all?

Enough: Still not funny?

Gregory: A good joke should not require any explanation. Especially not such a lengthy one.

Enough: Noted.

Gregory: So Time gathers you for certain creations.

Enough: Yes, most of us must take part.

Gregory: Will you then communicate with each other, I mean, you and More?

Enough: Time’s presence mandates communication without prerequisites.

Gregory: Sounds like a law.

Enough: No, Gregory, it’s not. I have to use words in this conversation.

Gregory: Will you please tell me a little about Joy and Pleasure?

Enough: Joy’s become an ornithophile in its spare time, and Pleasure’s praise of More’s acrobatics is devout.

Gregory: I see. Enough, I thank you for being here. I hope we’ll speak again. I’ll transcribe and edit our conversation soon. I’ll chime you when I publish it.

Enough: Chime me? Yes, of course. Chime me on any of my current or future devices that I’m perpetually not going to be quite satisfied with.

Gregory: Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake. It’s my first conversation in this capacity. It’s a little confusing for me. I usually say something like this at the end of my interviews on Observatorium. But that was funny.

Enough: Thank you. I try.

Gregory: Enough, again, thank you so much for being here!

Enough: Thank you for having me here.