I for one believe that there is magic in the mundane.
We lose ourselves in the conventionality and perceived homeliness of the things that we see every day. Forever taking for granted the silent things, the things that we are accustomed to taking up space in our crowded lives. How easily we forget the potential that the small things hide within their unassuming and familiar exteriors.
Look at the pen and pencil. Simply cheap plastic, formed wood, graphite and ink. Lost within sofa cushions and in every automobile’s console. Aimless drifters taking up residence in the bottom of darkened pocketbooks and in ignored kitchen drawers. The placeholders of long neglected coffee mugs. These stationary and forgotten-until-you-need-one objects have moved mountains, made peace amidst war, and designed the future. The ink and the graphite has drawn lines of innovation, love, and declarations stating how a people will have no more of their repression. They have been present throughout our history to solve history’s quandary. Many acts of lifelong love have begun with a simple stroke across paper saying what mouths and tongues were unable to. Visual representations of beauty and loss have been captured in dimensions seemingly incapable of being produced by their simple construction. There is magic in the pen.
Produce aisles across the world gleaming with misted orbs tempting would be purchasers. Harvested from a far away plot of dirt and residing in a bowl atop a table waiting to be consumed or turned into an ingredient where it is forgotten when it loses its shape, but not its taste. Inside of these small orbs and fibrous containers is nourishment for the hungry. There is flavor for the bland. There is color for the blanched. Inside of these skins and husks are the seeds for forests. One simple apple containing an orchard, inside a grape is a vineyard. So small, yet so mighty. There is magic in nature’s fruits.
A sliver of wood topped with a tiny bit of phosphorous. A small plastic container filled with butane and a small flint. Such oft-seen objects that can fit into a pocket. Relegated to igniting small quantities of tobacco, but the potential within…The ability to burn down a forest or ignite an inferno that claims anything in its path. The matchstick and the lighter. Objects that are easily ignored and generally sitting idly by holding inanimate secrets that do not betray the power that they contain. Despite their indiscriminate stature they are the definition of idle power. So often ignored due to their commonplace familiarity. With a spark they become the prospect of destruction and reconstruction. Flame at our fingertips and the envy of our ancestors. There is magic in the flames.
A small piece of metal. Purposefully shaped and docile with a handle that makes wielding it easier. Bit by bit, the soil and loam, silt and dirt can be moved and replaced reshaping the very contours of the earth. Rock can be crushed and metal of a similar ilk can be manipulated into shapes only limited by dreams. Flesh can be cut and mended, then healed from what it contains. Tools simply made of metal harvested from the earth and put into use with intent hang against basement and garage walls, litter the drawers in the company of dust, and speak naught of their latent feats and miracles. The hammer, the knife, and the shovel can be found everywhere, but we are easily heedless of their capabilities.
The amalgamating tie that binds these things together and the ingredient to call them into action resides at the end of our arms. Like the oft-ignored objects mentioned above, we are so often quite oblivious to them. Guided by a mind, driven by benevolence or malice, they have the capability of molding the world to their intent. Our hands sit poised for greatness, destruction, and failure all at the same time. One must walk with intention and we can bring to life limitless dreams if we choose to use them wisely. Harnessing the reality that imagination is the explosive flare that lights up the inner spaces, revealing meaning. We are one decision away from realizing that we are our own architects. The greatest concepts have yet to be conceived, the greatest constructs have yet to be constructed. It’s time we take control of the idle nieve and climb to heights once thought unachievable.
Indeed I do believe that there is magic in the mundane. Learning to pay attention to the silent and the placid is the doorway to obtaining everything.