MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “question”

That question we all ask

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There is something we all at some point find ourselves doing: seeking the answers we search not in ourselves but in someone else. Because it is much easier to ask others what to do and how to do it rather than try to figure it out ourselves. It is faster and simpler to have others solve the problem instead of finding the way to do it ourselves.

That is why when we find “inspirational” people there is always someone who asks the question of “what should I do” or “how should I do [something] to become like you”? The best answer a truly influential person can give is “go out and act and stop asking me about it”.

No-one can really provide you all the answers you look for. There is no pre-defined right-or-wrong solution to everything that goes on in your head. Plus the responses you may get may very often not fit with your perspective. Or put simply, they may not be what you want to hear.

The best thing is to stop delaying and procrastinating so much. We blame our fallible human nature, our indecisiveness, even our OCD, but deep down there is something else: the fact that we may not want it as much as we believe. Because if we truly wanted something we would do anything we could to achieve it. We wouldn’t over-analyse. We wouldn’t go around asking. We would find ways to act.

It’s as simple as that.

The question

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2DR09KdLUeA/UJzJNw_9YWI/AAAAAAAAGlA/7df7bqIK9kY/s1600/clouds-with-green-nature.jpgIt is truly strange how one question can affect your entire life in ways you can’t even predict. How it can not only change your present, but may alter your future and any expectations for it that you may have had. What is most astonishing is the fact that it may very well be a question that had never crossed your mind before.

Jeremy lay in a hospital bed for the past five hours. He was connected to a machine that helped him maintain a stable breathing rate, supplying him with enough oxygen. His right hand had a long needle taped into it through which serum dripped into his blood vessels. The room was as silent as a temple. Outside the window, a green forest was shielding the stress and clamour of the nearby city. He lay still, to the extent that if you didn’t notice his chest move up and down, you wouldn’t know if he was even breathing.

His body was frail, full of scars and burns. He was lucky to be alive, but he did not know it. His head was wrapped in layers of white bandage, giving him the appearance of an Egyptian mummy. Yet, Jeremy lay there still and calm, as if nothing of what he had just survived had ever happened.

What he did not know, however, was what exactly did happen.

He opened his eyes exactly five hours and twenty-two minutes after he was intubated in that sanatorium.

Standing above his bed was a man sporting a very noble appearance in an elegant grey suit, with a cleanly-cut brown beard, small round spectacles and short hair that betrayed a hint of gray if you looked hard enough. He was observing him, monitoring Jeremy’s every move and patiently waiting for something to happen.

Jeremy had never seen him before.

At least that was what he thought.

But he could be wrong.

Amnesia does that.

As the man spoke, his voice, coarse and deep, echoed across the room, reverberated against the empty white walls.

What are you doing here?

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