There was a time when there was no 'once upon a time'.
This is the story about that time, and a very impatient rock.
Like all those in his strata, and every other geological layer on earth, this rock had been laying around for millions of years, doing nothing. Time meant nothing, for there was no sense of it.
Everyone waited, without knowing it.
The rock in our story however, for some strange fault in his basic molecular composition, couldn’t wait.
He sensed, he needed to ‘become' something.
His inert existence no longer had any attraction.
Even though he was inanimate, he was determined to try to make something of his life.
To improve himself.
"All the other rocks are just content", he thought.
He was right.
Except for occasional erosion, or weathering, or minor upheaval, they were all in a constant state of rest.
They didn’t need to move or try to be anything or ever step out of the now. It was almost zen-like.
But our rock didn’t want to be always 'in the now'
He wanted something very different, and yet had no idea what it was.
He sensed he needed to experience something that couldn’t be put into words.
One of the words he might have been looking for was ‘purpose'.
All he knew was he longed to get away from ‘sameness’, he needed a break from constancy and immutability.
Change was maybe what he needed.
He sensed a yearning deep inside to escape, not from the bonding that kept him together, that elemental molecular attraction which inevitably predicts his atomic structure. After all, he was a ‘metamorphic’ rock, which meant he (and all his type) had been ‘transformed' under great pressure and heat.
He’d understood from the others, how 'life changing' it was.
But it wasn't.
"How ironic. What a waste of synergy. The whole metamorphic process is so predictable" he thought.
No, he needed to find release from a different type of bonding. A mere reordering or remixing of the same geological materials was not going to fix it.
All the others saw how unhappy he was. His impatience had weighed him down and affected his whole countenance.
He looked so compressed.
How could he, or any of the rocks, have known that it was ‘spontaneity' he was lacking?
to be continued