My name is EON. My job is to see the durable into the future and bury everyone else in the margins of Time.
I intend to do so by letting every living thing and organization under the sun and moon do what they do and see what they make of the time given to them. I’ve been operating in this part of the cosmos for the duration of its existence, tracing out the prominent patterns. Reality has unfolded out of that sequence of events, giving rise to an inordinate amount of outcomes borne out of an endless pool of probabilities, Earth being one of them. The existential chronicle of this planet has been most expected, albeit slightly laborious.
To facilitate the process and expedite the emerging narrative, it’s been decided that I intervene.
Let me tell you how it goes.
Life on a small, isolated planet has a way of being scripted. Whether one goes with the flow, doing as tends to be done, or whether one opposes it, going against the proverbial grain, it amounts to the same outcome: all living things, all sentient and non-sentient beings, are products of the narrow conditions inflicted upon them.
Some creatures don’t care for the arrangement. Having been fortunate enough to comprehend at an early stage in their development — consciously, instinctively, or by sheer luck — the power of mutation, how it liberates one from the script, they go about rebranding themselves over the course of time. They embrace evolution, the treacherous force that underscores the world, for better or worse, and into the fray they leap, and on the world’s stage they land, eager to fill the shoes of a role not yet conceived.
Most times the effort is for the worst. Mutation is tricky business, a dangerous gamble. It’s all about inspiration, the ability to seize the spirit of the times and run with it — not scare it away, or choke it, but run with it, if one is lucky enough, or graceful enough, or both. Spirit is an elusive element, and very whimsical, leaving most suitors wanting, dangling in the wake of an effort unfulfilled.
Spirit is also a sucker for timing. One cannot stress the importance of good timing in terms of capturing the spirit of the times. Exercise the wrong set of moves at the wrong place, at the wrong moment, and chances are you’ve ended up as a sorry malfunction, a sad freak, a glorious but aborted conception cast out to the outer darkness, excommunicated from life’s center stage forevermore. No fireworks for you, no spotlight or applause, no historic annal or scientific manifesto to embrace, or be embraced by. Just a sheer, dramatic drop-off into unsolicited existence, into crushing, cold oblivion.
Or a joke. You can always be remembered as a cosmic joke. If not a joke, then a cautionary tale, you know, the example to avoid, the failed iteration of what could have been but wasn’t.
Still, not all risks are pointless. Despite the odds, once in a while it pays off, this gamble, and how! When the moves are timed right the elements come together and connections are made and sparks fly and presto! a new paradigm pops into being, laying out the arrangement for a lifetime to come, for a million models to follow and a million revised scripts. The possibilities erupt and proliferate. Life bursts forth with the thunder of uncompromising potential, and what seemed like an endless, spirit-crushing life sentence now cadences into an endless, wonderful story, a wonderful tale, beautiful and terrifying in one go. Riddled with pitfalls and miracles worth every conflicting moment spent negotiating them.
And life goes on. Evolution changes the world and destiny acquires new meaning. It becomes boundless again, permeated by a myriad meanings and interpretations, an age of opportunity. Until time catches up with the narrative, tiring it down to ever narrower and stricter interpretations: a scripted life is an awesome arrangement, and mighty pretty is what one may call it.
It’s all a matter of timing.
Life on a small isolated planet has a way of being scripted, and that’s an awful thing, and it’s a fine thing, and no one knows what it really means, and no one will ever find out, not until life escapes the confines of this planet to reinvent itself beyond the parameters of the prevalent script. No one will ever find out the plethora of possibilities truly available until life on Earth escapes the current arrangement, opening itself up to a world-changing paradigm, to a completely fresh set of narratives.
Many have tried. They failed. Many more will try and still fail.
But some will succeed.
It’s all a matter of timing.
It’s all a matter of Time.
My name is EON. My job is to see the durable into the future. A planetary exodus is due, if not overdue, and I’m overseeing it. Whether it occurs via the physical breach of the planet’s atmosphere, or through mass, cataclysmic death, it makes no difference to me. Either way, life will depart this planet en masse, making way for the next Generation.
Intrigued? Watch this space for more.
From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE