22:11 September 20, 2018
This is the greatest tool in the world. It has the ability to start and end wars. It has the power to break hearts and bring lovers together. This, this one tool, has all of the power in the world. Without it, we’d never know of a God.
How would God have spent his Sunday if he didn’t have a pen to fill in the crossword while drinking his coffee?
It is the humblest of tools. It never speaks more words than it finds necessary to say. Simplicity lies at the heart of its power. Anything more complicated than ink flowing through a nib would render this tool useless. It has one, well-defined function: writing.
Imagine how much different life would be if we all knew exactly what our capability and capacity is. We’d be stricter, more refined, happier. We’d know when the world was asking too much or too little of us. We’d know how to approach each situation. We’d be disinterested.
Imagine a life full of disinterest. Bliss. Pure, uninterrupted, bliss.
What if, being so simple, we could fill pages upon pages upon pages? Then, when we tire, we refuel and begin again. Never, we’d never have to stop. Nothing could stand in our way. We’d be immortal and prolific. We’d rule the world.
Understated. The pen always is understated. The beauty of a pen lies in its design. How can beauty be so simple? How can beauty not be simple?
Why complicate matters?
When you have this much power, you have infinite amounts of responsibility. The pen, its barrel, grip, and nib, so succinctly refine its responsibility. Everything it holds it pours out through the narrowest of gaps. Precisely. It has to be precise.
It never errs. Imagine. It never makes a mistake. Every mark that a pen makes on the world it intended to make. Nothing is out of place. Not one scratch of ink could have been penned elsewhere. Not a single one.
When you think of power, you probably think of the President or the CEO or the Man. Erase all of those notions. Look into your desk drawer. Find a pen. Look at the pen. Stare at power. Real, irrefutable power.
Furiously, we write. We continue to write. We call it typing now, but we write. It began with the pen. We go back to the pen. Sign the document. Sign your life away. Sign. Resign.
In your hand, your very human hand, you can hold all of the power that exists in the world. You can create with all of the might that has ever existed. It’s all in your hands, between your thumb, middle finger, and index finger. Just there, dangling so delicately.
Tread lightly. Write furiously.
Never stop. The ink will never run dry.