Entry #10: Trippy Giraffes, What Else?

"Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."
Reads the tombstone of the late Edgar Derby. So it goes.
To anyone who hadn't been abducted by Tralfamadorians, this line would be nothing more than an allusion to heaven; however, to Billy Pilgrim, it had a far deeper meaning. Pilgrim longs for nothing more than peace; peace of mind, peace of heart, peace that simply means to keep him in the same time and place. Billy Pilgrim is nothing more than a nostalgic man who longs for the simplicity and beauty of a childhood-like state, or something resembling Tralfamadore. In my oh so humble opinion, what Pilgrim is really longing for is sanity.
For a man who has been through so much in his life time(s), it seems to me that he comes pretty close to this unattainable peace while under a dose of morphine. In his hallucinogenic state, Pilgrim wanders of into an exclusive giraffe garden club, where he finds solace.

Pilgrim's new mindset: Disregard pacifistic ideals, make out with giraffes.

After this slight excursion, Pilgrim travels forward in time to 1948, where he is taking refuge in a veteran home three years after the war. He is waiting for his mother to return. He is seated next to a man by the name of Eliot Rosewater; a drunken former infantry captain who spends his spare time obsessing over science fiction novels. How ironic.
Later, Pilgrim's mother returns and begins to have a light chat with Rosewater, during which Vonnegut makes the statement:
"And on and on it went- that duet between the dumb, praying lady and the big, hollow man who was so full of loving echoes" For whatever reason, this particular quote stood out to me. Once again, in my oh so humble opinion, I see it as a reflection of the lives of common, empty, plain people in contrast to those irrevocably damaged by war. Those who were so blissfully ignorant to the hostile war kept on with their empty prayers and hopes, while the bigger people were fighting and being made hollow by the cruel dishonor to humanity of war going on around them. For the bigger people, all that is left to them after the war are echoes, the loving echoes of the person they used to be before, when everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.