The Long Way Home
There’s a road that can be forgotten in the rush of the daily minutia that makes up the ticking seconds of a life. There are things that have to be done to feed the big machine. There are things that have to be done to make sure the gears keep turning. The machine is important. Bills don’t get paid and bellies don’t get filled if the machine isn’t given its due. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that the machine is just a tool meant to accomplish a very basic task. Too much attention paid to the metal giant and the machine starts to take on a life of its own. Worship overlong at the altar and the machine becomes a god and a petty and jealous one at that. In the end it will require you to sacrifice everything in the name of its cause. Like some old myth come to life it will fill the sky and the land around until everything is the machine and the machine is everything.
Inertia is an interesting concept. Newton’s law of inertia states, in a nutshell, that it is the natural tendency of objects to resist changes in their state of motion until some other force acts upon them. The machine loves inertia. Inertia keeps the machine fed and oiled. The doctrines of the Church of the Machine forbid its disciples to enact an opposing force to that inertia. The machine desires to keep all purposes at one with its need to survive and dominate.
Feed the machine. It is a necessary evil. But you must decide when and what it will eat. Embrace change. Bend it to your time and your purpose. The machine is powerful. It will fight you but never forget that it is only a means to an end and not the end itself. There are many ways to get to where we’re all going but in the end all roads lead to Rome. So if you’d like to, take the long way home.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.