Pens, Friends, and Providence.

There is a well known saying that has been passed from sage to sage, friend to friend, from one society to another. A picture is worth a thousand words. The reason why I believe a picture is worth a thousand words is because it took all of Creation to precede it in order for it to be. That being said, what is to be — whether to have an end or not to have an end or otherwise known as a finite point of existence — is unknown and unknowable to philosophers, and known to believers. That is a subject matter for another day, another season. That is not the reason I write this story. The image which you see in this story has existed in the number of places where this picture has been seen. Namely my phone, my computer, the readers who very few have caused it to come to being on their computer screens by clicking on the article. The picture itself is no longer unique.

I in some process of action or another arranged the pens for a purpose. I can tell you that the original intention was not to write this story. The process itself was my muse. My original intent was to separate the good pens from the bad pens. Almost all of the physical elements of the picture which are ordered as such are not unique. Just as the image you see has been recreated or regenerated in several places, the items have been regenerated a number of times. Everything you see is manufactured, in mass, for the consumption by consumers of the market economy wherever these items are distributed. The pens, the folder, and the back of the letter from Doctors without Borders which shows their 1999 Nobel Peace Prize.

There were a total of about 50 pens which you can’t see because the camera lens doesn’t have the capacity to record everything, just as this story can only tell you one perspective of the “Big Picture“.

Some of the pens, I’ve bought at the various stores around where I have lived. Some of the pens, I have unknowingly pocketed. Two from Dahlgren Chapel actually say “Stolen  from Dahlgren Chapel ..” on the side. Some pens, were given to me at conferences, at hotels, and places too numerous and too unimportant to name. The portfolio itself, my employer Beaconfire Consulting graciously gives away. The pen bin is manufactured by some company which distributes through Ikea, the Container Store, and at least a handful of other retail distributors. The two pens in the middle are the most unique of the two. They both can share the same ink refill. One has “Men’s Warehouse” written on it, the other “Making life delicious“. I will admit, I did steal these two pens. They have a proper weight and feel just right in the hand when in use. I stole the “Making life delicious” pen because I thought it said “Making life beautiful.”  :)

The only element in the picture you see that is unique, and unique to this singular universe that you and I inhabit is what I have written as words on the the back of the portfolio. I have repeated the words “I am. I will be. One day.” (Only I and the Living God know who I am, who I will be, and what One Day actually means.) The reason my writing is unique, is because I created it. I needed to test every pen in my home collection which usually sits in the aluminum cylindrical container.

Why did I need to test every pen in my collection? I needed to see whether the pens were good or bad. Good pens work. When they don’t work, they are bad. Simple enough? They work by providing a continuous stream of ink on paper and can write a sentence as legibly as the holder of the mightiest weapon on earth can write it. My test is a very selfish test. I attach no feeling whatsoever to any of the pens, probably because I didn’t pay much money for them, and they don’t have any sentimental value. Most of them have very cliche or mundane stories attached to them. The bad pens, I was going to and I did throw away. I the only guilt I feel is that these pens will not be recycled as far as I know. They might be somewhere down the line. The recycling industry is getting better and better at extracting recyclable items from waste. (I do consciously recycle glass, plastic, and paper, but separating the pen parts is too much work.)

The two pens that you see in the center of the image are unique because they are different from the rest for several reasons. They signify strength because of their heavy weight characteristics. They are both made from metal. They signify adaptability because if the ink runs dry, the ink cartridges are readily available and can be replaced. They signify memorability because I have had them longer than any of the other pens. With my own objective test, each of these two pens should have remained in my collection. I should have kept them both and bought a fresh pack of ink refills so that I could keep on using them for my all important post-it reminders, grocery lists, and the occasional entry in my private journal. I didn’t keep both. One pen didn’t work. One pen was bad. Rather the refill in the pen didn’t work. I took out the refill from the other pen and put it in the pen I liked.

I saw in my action of separating the good from the bad, and the ones I like, a pattern of several allegorical purges of my life as I have known it. Whatever judgement I do have of good and bad, it may not be as objective as something working or not working, the concept is the same. As I have grown older, and hopefully a bit wiser, the process of elimination is constant. I always have to chose what to do next based on what is either good for me, or what is not bad for me, and sometimes what I want to do because I like to.

As each choice, action, and consequence can in my mind be abstractly connected to a “pen” that I kept, or thew away, the same has applied for me with people. I have met many people in my life. Many of them I consider aquaintances. Some of them are still friends. Few of them close friends. The others I have decided to be nonjudgmentally indifferent about. At some point or another, those people didn’t find any value in my life. The action of separating the good and the bad pens begat the question of why certain people were no longer a part of my life. Why they didn’t pass my personal test — which compared to my pen test, is the most subjective, selfish and self-centered test I could have ever conceived — somewhat eludes my mind. I am not naive to say that every lost friendship didn’t have a good reason. Certain friendships are seasonal as my friend told me yesterday. Friends come and go for a reason, and every season has a reason.

There is a certain balance which I see is attained as the soul grows older. For me at least, the balance comes with understanding my place in this world in relation to the others that cohabit this earth. Testing and throwing away pens, choices in finances, choices in my career, and the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom can all have objective means. Testing and throwing away relationships and friendships is not in my control. A powerful dynamic force that moves all things is shaping my destiny and my fate. I have been shown my end. I have known it for a while. It has many friends in it, and they are all smiling. This is a vision which I can continue working towards, without a doubt, with all my faith, all my heart, and all my soul.

The pens that I have thrown away, I do not miss. The friends which I have lost, I hope to reconnect with. With a new cycle of the human endorsed Solar year coming up, among other things, I hope to find my lost friends and rebuild relationships which should be strong, adaptable, and memorable just as the pens I intend to keep. I have to thank God for teaching me this lesson, giving me the words to write this story, and for continuing to be my Teacher. This story is my Christmas gift, and one I want to give to you.