I say our worst fear, Marcus, is not that our accomplishments will go unsung, but that our ordinariness will go unwitnessed and unacknowledged. The discordant details that define us, the little habits that enslave us, the everyday invisible machinations of our mind, that are flesh and bone, that are poem and soul, that mean nothing and everything, will fade away unknown.
That remains the unspoken contract of social relationships, to observe and exalt the insignificant minutiae that comprise the more tangible whole?
But where there is a favourable bias towards the whole, the average, the common and the ordinary are perhaps elevated or ignored.
Maybe we have to bear witness to our own inconsequence, our own mediocrity, our own irrelevant thoughts, maybe if we acknowledge them ourselves, that will become our unsung accomplishment, the one that will not matter in the end. The one that is nothing and everything.
from a feather, he births a bird
from a bird, he paints a sky,
from a sky, he steals another raindrop