‘These are the crews to own the future and everything in it.’ ~ EON
Somewhere in the distance, over the lands and mountains behind which they hide, the torrents of life flow strong. The currents rumble away and new contours of agency are being carved through the terrain of grace and opportunity where the action of the world takes place, where the surging decisions are made.
While the average Joe and Jane of the world — poor, rich, weak, strong, whatever they may be — crash out and wash up on the shores of embellishment, making argument after argument and settlement after settlement, and as the debris of the river piles up, creating atavism after filthy, toxic atavism, clotting the flow of the current, a new set of crews is making its move.
Following in the wake of everyone before them these crews are getting ready to take charge of the flow, and a fresh course of action is laid out by those among them who’ve learned from other people’s mistakes and successes, from what their predecessors have brought to fruition. Eager to make their mark, they apply themselves in ways that work and work again. They never emulate a measure unless it gets them through an obstacle. They never repeat something tried and tested and failed.
They avoid clots and atavisms like the plague. They learn to negotiate the whirlpools and rapids.
They dispose of their trash efficiently and never take on board a nightmare, because one nightmare is one too many and the beginning of many more.
These crews, fired up as they are, hurt and bleed and lose their intensity in the process, but they recuperate and bounce back stronger than ever by taking care of themselves. They become fitter with every challenge and setback, with every pain swallowed and digested. Whatever doesn’t end them gives them a reason to continue. They want to continue. They never bought into the overhyped serenity of still waters, or the predictability of habit, and never will. They dissed the pipe dream for the savage charm of the white waters and traded the mainstream for the real main stream, for the raging carotid, for the hellfire of life, negotiating the life-churning froth of circulation, heading straight for the brain, where they operate at their best.
These crews own the future. Some of them remain active inside the brain network their entire lives, from where they run the show. Others venture out again, heading for whichever organ they feel like, assuming specialized positions.
By now you will have realized that evolution is like a body made up of cells. Life is a body made up of cells. Everything has its function, to each their own. The cells able to negotiate the principal current become invariably part of the brain, the spine and the nervous system, driving the development of conscious and unconscious intelligence.
The ones that drop anchor at their preferred locations become specialized organs—stomach, heart, pecs, fingers — serving a specific purpose. They have the ability to influence the main stream inasmuch as their needs are met. They have a sometimes overt, sometimes unconscious effect on the organism, their presence never really driving the show, yet always supporting it.
As for those that lose their bearings and crash out, they become fodder and garbage: the skin cells the body sheds every few months, the lining cells of its digestive system, the appendixes and gallbladders, the tonsils, the spleens, the irrelevant and expendable material an organism needs to consume or disregard for the rest of the body to work.
The analogy is not a popular one. It brings about disturbing insight, making one think, What the hell am I? Where in this body am I situated?
Unnerved? Watch this space for more.
From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE