The World is created from a Pen

It is not controversial, it is the truth. Think about it, all you know is from a book. You believe in the creation theory? Good. An atheist, good for you. A Darwinist who believes that we are a step in the next great evolutionary scale, take a sip of that coffee and enjoy. Regardless where your loyalties lie in whichever thought, the truth is, someone somewhere wrote it. When you looked for answers to confirm your minds musings, you found it in a book. Someone anticipated you, someone knew you would come knocking. S/He knew you would need refuge from the cold and a place to sleep. They left the key under the mat, wrote a note and left the light on. They knew you would come eventually, that why their notes don’t have time stamps, because it is truer than true what they wrote then perhaps more now that you read it.

Everything that was not written has not stood the test of time. From the beginning, whatever marvels they saw, whatever sweet/ appalling stories they heard or whatever putrid smells or sweet aromas they smelt, they died with it…. As long as it was not written. We only know there was a past because someone wrote about it, history as we know it is after all as they saw it and as they wrote it. Not because it was painted by some artist on a canvas, not because it was recited as a poem, not because it was sang about, not even hearsay. Someone wrote about it, someone sat down and thought you would need to know there was a past. That lessons can be drawn from the past, and that as sure as the world is round, the past will always inform the future. Everything is within this sphere, everything has its space but there is space for some more.

Great inventions and their inventors would have faded to oblivion has someone not written about it. Stories about great wars would never have been in place had someone not sat in the middle of the battlefield, and written against the backdrop of men screaming and crying, among the putrid smell of death and decay. Great love stories would never be understood for their bare essence that one can love beyond themselves and receive it back … perhaps not in equal measure but a measure no less. Great tragedies would not be a reason for men to come back to reason when everything was falling apart. A road once trodden on will always lead to the same place. People who made a difference from nothing would have impacted on the here and now, but thanks to someone sitting and documenting it, we can borrow nuggets of wisdom here and there… and show you inadvertently that the wheel has been invented, don’t waste your life trying to do it. Better the wheel from here on out, they subtly whisper.

Written words never lose their essence or lustre. They remain there like a time capsule; complete with memories and visuals. Pictures can be worth more than words, but it loses its lustre and composure over time. Even they can’t give the whole story, unless they accompany words. A caption, a snippet and a summary… this is why this picture is important. It gives context. Meaning even. Poetry and its encrypted birth right or its first cousin music thinly veil the message, but written words are full of candor. Their worth is not pegged on a number, it is pegged on how they communicate to you. Everyone can read, but only you will understand what every writing that you read means.

Half your life is in books’ written pages. There is nothing that is new, just different people getting into predetermined characters in an age old script. The other half depends on how you act it out. Why you ask? Because someone wrote about it. They taught you all you know, so they know how it all goes. They know the end, but they gave you the free will to choose the means. The plot thickens… not quite, the plot continues. The twists and turns, they are predetermined. They know the end. Even the good book ends in revelations; that your eyes be open that there was a genesis and an exodus soon after…. Many books in between them, so many contributors to the plot, but the plot was always going to end as it was intended. Because it was written.

Someone sat like I am right now, with a quill, a felt pen, a stone tablet, a biro pen, a type writer, a laptop and punched words together. Those twenty six letters were conducted like an orchestra; singular pieces each with singular characters. S/He wove them together like a patient seamstress, different threads. Only with a vision of what it would like eventually and very raw materials. The ideas they had were figments of their imagination. They have ensured that their fantasies are your reality, and for your children’s children and their children. Because they heard what others heard, and saw what others saw and thought you should know… that that is how the world was then. As much color as would have been absent then would be swathed in a new hue but that black and white were always at the base of the spectrum. In the end, everything is black and white.

Whether you agree with these few words or not, the fact you have read it and considered it for a split second … means I have done exactly that. I have added another timeless thought in your mind, I have shown you exactly what you always knew; that it was written and it became so. The more things change the more they remain the same. Thoughts become things; if you think it, even if you don’t want to believe it, someone wrote it, and it will come to pass. The best you can do, read something. Expand your knowledge of the world. Expand your horizon, you will realize that the horizon was what someone wanted you to read about and convinced you about. Someone else wrote about what was beyond the horizon and yet someone else also told you that there was no horizon, just the limit of your eyesight and countless others. Know this, understand this and realize … the world is created from a pen.