March first. Think later. Imagine what is on the other side of this crazy brown hill ahead. And then the imagination will possibly reward you, if it is not very good. And it will punish you if the expectations it built are unattainable.
The beautiful patterns of temples. The mosaics over entrances. The jewel like images of saints and angels and animals. And people.
But perhaps even the most incredibly imagined places exist. Perhaps not after this hill or the next. But maybe after the valley or the ocean or where the sky finally meets the ground. And maybe they do not exist right now. Perhaps they are there to be built. Or maybe they are in the mind of another person, who coming from the other side is looking for them.
Is this how we meet? Is this how we have finally met?
The most incredible, amazing, intricate, elaborate, beautiful something existed in two minds, two hearts, two bellies.
And then it becomes something.
March first. Think later. I still remember hearing the name of that agency for the first time. I was at a place called Organic. And March First had just been revealed. It sounded much more like a call to action. The dot com era was glowing hot. The spinning story was pulling in more and more people of all sorts. They were sucked in by this new land, the new hope, the expanses of free expression, the freedom for all. An even playing field. Everyone was suddenly able to march first, think later, conquer, present, and imagine. Oh, everyone could become a brand? Win. Everyone could win. Everyone equally amazing.
The sun was shining brightly at us. And twice a day we would enter the shadow of the towers. They were that cool place from a time gone and alive at the same time.
Our offices were in the Woolworth Building. The cathedral of commerce. Near the elevators was a sculpture of the owner, holding on to pennies. And when I managed to escape into the staircase and walk up until the doors opened to the terrace in the sky, I was able to see the grandness of the empty floors above us. I imagined that glass elevator too. Somewhere in that tower. Eventually more floors became empty. Even the one I used to work on. And the towers stopped casting shadows. At least those created by blocking the light of the sun.
Beauty and technology. They happen together and often despite of each other. I am sure there are versions of me, climbing onto secret staircases of code and imagining all kinds of views and virtual buildings and accomplishments. All destined to change though. All destined to eventually fall down, evaporate, disappear. Some in our lifetime, some in lifetimes of lifetimes after us. Some in a parallel time. Why does any of this matter? The words in themselves turn into circles and seeds and saplings and trees and leaves and fruit and the nourishments around new seeds again. From the dust of stars to living, breathing organisms to the dust of stars again. A tree might not be able to ever march, but it knows when the sunshine brings enough nourishment that it is worth it to risk the burst into buds and leaves and flowers and another annual ring.
Do trees have an imagination? They can’t imagine what’s beyond the hill they do not see?
But they might be able to taste the waters pouring down from a brook that starts in that very hill. Or perhaps they hear what those on the other side of the hill are thinking because the messages are sent through a fungal network.
“The grass is greener on our side of the hill”, they might say, “and grass takes away from us, so no need to send your seeds”. But in the end the birds decide where to plant. Do trees know that many of them would not be where they are, were it not for the little feathered dinosaurs with pockets in their throats? March first, think later. Walk before your run. And find moments when you do not think at all. Like a tree, feel the massive changes around you. And know that it will be okay. March first is here, and so April and May are soon to follow.
Hello little bird.
Carry this please.