View Original Handwritten Notes
Trying out a new pen. It feels like a nice fountain pen and can handle a light touch. It is interesting—more like paint or watercolor over a stickier ink. So the stickiness of ink matters! I wonder about the difference between this ink’s thickness and what other differences might be worth noting, worth putting measure to.
I’ve had things about Mondays! But surely it is not Monday’s fault—it’s simply what I might be importing from experience into the label and slot of time we call Monday. Monday is a measurement of time. It is cyclical. It is the day to act, respond, and ensure the plans we have are ready to be worked on—priorities set, difficult blockers and tasks put to the forefront before it is too late in the week. Monday is for action and clarification.
Clarifying the map of what needs to get done. A time to engage body, mind, and spirit. Trying to ensure Monday is balanced and productive ensures a better turnout than the typical slog—which only gets worse over a long week, thus further removing the cloud. I’ve officially put all that on top of Monday—through no fault of whichever day comes after the weekend.
The best is: I’ve prepared for the beginning of the week.
Paradise lost, opportunity lost.
That’s a nice fable.
Let’s wrap this page up. I left these thoughts long ago—what seems like another day, though only knowing so much has happened and so little. So it is with deep learning. The magic is to know how to make that multiply.
—
“Give me 10 minutes and I’ll give you a page,” the scribe said to the king.
And the king asked what this would cost him, and the scribe said it was free.
Ten minutes passed and the scribe handed the king the page—and the king, to his amazement, could not believe his eyes. If he were to put a value on the scribe, it would be more than all the jewels and coin in his safekeeping.
With such talent, all he could think to do was take the scribe to a tower used only for the most dangerous of prisoners, and ensure no one would ever be able to read what he had seen. Perhaps he would also have the scribe handcuffed and guarded.
This worked for the king, and he ruled for many years—
until one day, everything came apart.
He was killed by the arrows of his own army, the same army meant to protect him.
The scribe had become very wise in his transit of solitude and began learning how to communicate with the birds. These birds would come and go from the windows and allowed him to study and learn their ways.
After learning Bird, he only had to figure out how they could communicate what he was saying back to the people.
In the end, the scribe went to the army and just spelled out:
The king was bewitching birds.
And with that, he was promptly considered a magician—
and killed.