Ink is blood. Blood is ink. The intimate highway, the circulatory system, that ink and blood travel while transporting life and death. This is what they do. Circulatory systems and all writing devices share the task of being transporters. Block the road and suffer the consequences.
It’s been said that reading is a form of downloading new data into our wonderous computer, our brain. At the other end of this equation is the act of feeding the circulatory system which feeds the data you read making it available to your brain. New knowledge! The world becomes smaller, manageable, because we can read and we can write.
Our heart pumps, and our blood carries information throughout our body. This pursuit is relentless. We take so much for granted. Maybe it’s best this way. How else can we avoid the innate fear of our heart and blood flow stopping? Like a train jumping off its track, we would cease.
The brain and, therefore, its accompanying mind thirst for input. Being connected to wonderful devices such as our senses it demands information, interpretation of information, and insatiable analysis. As a species, we created one of our first-ever time machines when we invented writing, ink, and tablets. How else can the past whisper and yell at me? It is awe-inspiring.
A book, I read recently, is a miracle. This is immensely true. How else can we talk and share with the recent and long-deceased? Just maybe they feel, sense, when we respond to their writing, singing, painting.
There is so much that we do not know, but as long as we continue to read and write, we come closer to the answers we so eagerly desire.
When you walk past that forgotten bottle of ink sitting demurely in the corner of your office, silently thank it since it awaits patiently to become awakened and alive as it flows from one mind to another. Now and forever.
Thank you for reading.
0 Comments