Murdock Memories- Stillwater Runs Deep, Archimedes

Stillwater Runs Deep
Does It Not, Archimedes
Run Silent, Run Deep 

 

If you had but one singular opportunity to take hold of all the things you ever wanted, in a single moment, would you ever take the leap to seize it?  

What if you falter?
What if you fail?
What if the duck was actually a quail?

Let us say, I am an introvert. It is my identity. It is who I am. But am I an introvert? Okay. Storytime. Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a boy. The boy who lived in the east, which is really to the west of where I currently live, but it is east of the prime meridian running through Greenwich, yet not too far east. It is sort of in the middle between then and there. Sort of in the middle east, one could say. 

The need to know oneself drives the need for an identity. Much like a wand that chooses its owner, the essence of one’s nature reveals itself. Or so I was led to believe. The romanticization of a coming-of-age is just as bad as the unrealistic standards of a sitcom from the 90s. Thus, what is one to do when an identity does not present itself? What do you do if a wand does not choose you? The need to know oneself drives the need for an identity.  

So, now I am an introvert. Like a child who has willed the wings to sprout out from their responsibility-less, sore back because they wanted nothing more than to soar higher than that one time that they saw a sacrificial chicken escape the coop, I wanted to be an introvert. An unperturbed surface of water waiting for the perfect stone to skip a miraculous 24 times. Nobody tells you that still waters could also be knee deep.  

If you did what you liked for a living, you never have to work a day in your life. I liked being a storyteller. I liked telling stories. I liked selling stories. I liked selling ideas. I liked the ideas I was selling. Therefore, I became an idea that I was selling. In the end, we are all salespeople bartering versions of ourself to other people within acceptable exchange rates for a stipulated period of undefined time in the name of a relationship.  

Then it must be perfect else it is not worth doing at all /s. If you had but one singular opportunity to take hold of all the things you ever wanted, in a single moment, would you ever take the leap to seize it, even if you thought it might not be perfect? Leaps of faith are to be done unto bales of hay. Everyone knows that. How to be flawless on the very first attempt. It has been a while since the last mushroom and the princess is always in another castle. Who knows how many lives we had left. The foolhardy die but once for it is the cautious that live to see another dawn.  

There are not any corners on Earth where one can run and hide. However, silent running is an art well-learnt at the hands of the stepping stones to success. But this golden opportunity offers another avenue. The sensibility to listen is a virtue few possess, and even fewer cherish. Certainly, actions speak louder than words, yet sometimes thoughts are deafening. Sometimes you want to shine but the prospect of imperfection is blinding. What is the perfect first step? 

That is quite simple. Taking the first step is the first step. Breakdancing looks like three missteps with two left feet. That does not make the flailing of arms to a rhythmic beat any less entertaining to perform. Sometimes you learn to fly by failing to fall. As long as you do what you want to do, just do it.

What if you excuse
What voice you hear?
What is the string of the puppeteer?

Carpe diem. Quam minimum credula postero.

 

To Be Or Not To Be
That Freedom Is My Liberty
There Are No Strings On Me

Samosas, Secrets, and Stereo

The day began as calm as the beach at high tide. Nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary. The regular waves of people walking in and out. To the world, today was a day of celebration, a day of joy, and a day to remember. For two people it was the best day of their lives. It was the day they were about to meet each other. 

Fate has a wonderful way of revealing itself to those it was ordained to affect. The fated are barely aware of the circumstances surrounding the manifestation of the hand played by Fate. 

I do not speak of those that were given a sworn ring tied with three strands of hair. She knows what’s coming.
I do not speak of the man that pulls the rabbit out of a hat for a living. He knows what’s coming.
I speak of the girl that walks into a room and knows that the eyes of all those within will look towards her dazzling personality. I speak of the boy that struts into a room and looks past the longing gaze of the occupants of the room. 

But what happens when the both happen at the very same moment?

The stereo that played in the electronic store stopped playing.
The secrets gossiped in canteens were being hushed.
The samosa served found themselves being ignored. 
And they all waited until the two passed by oblivious to each other while being the centers of their own world. It was the day they were about to meet each other, but they never did. It was the best day of their lives.