There’s something special about a man’s spine after many years of wear and tear, barely holding its body up—a circus stilt-walker approaching the final thirty minutes of his shift after stumbling around all day. We don’t know its history: growing up in the fields, sowing corn; working in the coal mine before winning a rare opportunity to get an education outside those dark tunnels; the war it went through, returning after service to establish a new life somewhere new and open to its skills. The spine supported its body in getting an education in mechanical engineering so that the brain could support the building of other structures: steel support systems that will last for many millennia longer than the spine. That’s how it goes. Build something that will outlast you. Does the spine ever ask for credit? No. It continues quietly holding onto everything else, that is, until it cannot stand to do so any longer.
What about the heart? That persistent beat never breaks rhythm. Well, it does occasionally, but let’s not talk about that. We don’t talk about much that upsets us. That’s especially true when you consider anything that powers our power, turns our gears, creates the precious life force we use to build the things we do. We lie awake at night pondering: What would cause this rhythm to ever stop? The heart is given no directive beyond, “Keep working. No matter what. Don’t stop for anyone.” Did anyone ever ask the heart whether it should keep beating, regardless of the circumstances? Nobody asks anybody anything, yet we’d really like to know what the heart feels about its current state and whether it should continue that way.
The brain is a ticking time bomb. Every day, it learns more, building steam in the hippocampus, passing that information to the prefrontal cortex and hypothalamus, which whistles softly, then louder and louder as each day passes. Soon, the pot will run dry, but until then, the whistling intensifies and sears through space and time, infecting others with the information: we’re doomed. The brain continues frantically ticking, measuring time less consistently than the heart. The brain knows no imperative that it’s running towards; although, the basics are covered. Like the other parts, the brain has no motives but to motivate: identify the patterns that bring everybody else what they need to continue doing what they do. But with so many distractions today, it’s harder for it to do what it needs to help its companions. Should we rest, or should we stay up late listening to these endless drum loops and samples, modulating electronics that fuel an endless fascination? The situation is clear, but some of the brain’s companions remain unhappy with its decision on how to handle it.
The spine bends over to pick up its little one. The heart beats proudly in its cavity, as the warmth of another clutches its friend: the hand. Those signals unwind the brain’s clocks—the kettle’s whistling subsides, just for a moment. The strain of another’s weight is no bother, either, as the stilt-walker feels rejuvenated and walks proudly and strongly to entertain another family. The nighttime scares subside, if only momentarily, as the heart pumps as boldly as Icarus on an airplane, enjoying peanuts with his wings in the overhead compartment. The heart reminds the brain that it’s time to feel that adrenaline shot again. So the brain tells the spine to travel into the play area, where the conductor awaits, holding a story that it insists the trio gather enough grit and courage to read.