The Eagle Comes Each Morning
Before we even learned to speak across distance, we managed to spread miscommunication. Alexander Graham Bell, like many men of his time, took credit for what an Italian inventor, Antonio Meucci, had already created. Maybe that was the first omen. The telephone â humanity's great leap forward in connection â was born in a lie.
And now, in the dark age of social media, I wonder if the omen was clear all along: perhaps we were never meant to hear voices carried through wires, never meant to turn thought into instant noise. We crossed a boundary. We stopped being creatures of the earth and became creatures of the machine. Everything is now at the touch of a thumb. But unlike Midas, nothing we touch turns to gold. Like Prometheus stealing fire, we mistook theft for triumph. And just like fire, what was meant to illuminate is just as capable of burning us down.
The first miscommunication wasn't a glitch. It was the blueprint. And what Prometheus really stole wasn't just fire â he stole it from the divine. The space between breaths. The sacred time you once took to write a letter, to communicate with another. That time gave the brain room to breathe, to think.
Now, we no longer let our brains breathe. We suffocate them, scratching the little grey cells off our heads like dandruff.
It feels as if, when we first learned to communicate so quickly, we lost our peace.
The journey instead of the invisible destination.
Samsara â the wheel of life.
In our relentless pursuit of meaning, we forgot what divinity lies in a pause. In a breath. We didn't just throw a wrench in the cycle. We desecrated the Sabbath of silence. We traded our living hearts for the hollow ticking of the Tin Man's chest.
We sold our time just to drag the future a little closer. But every theft demands its price. Now the eagle comes each morning - notifications, emails, alerts - tearing at our focus until there's nothing left. By dawn it grows back, ready to be devoured anew.
To commit a major and famous correlation-versus-causation fallacy, here is a mind-blowing fact: in 1876, Bell stole and claimed he invented the telephone. In 1882, Friedrich Nietzsche declared, "God is dead, and we have killed him." Guess it only took six six six years.
Ever since then, we have done nothing but search for the divine buried in our backyard by our ancestors.
2 am musings ironically born out of an insta reel about Bell vs Meucci. Turns out the serpent loves telling stories about Eden. Wrote this essay about it. The pattern was always there.
