One very interesting word. By its definition, below, it describes just about everything that is around us, what we see, what we observe, even what we are as individuals - all fragments of a bigger whole, the entire size of which is beyond our imagining.
"A fragment is a small piece that's come off a larger whole, and to fragment is to break. If your teacher writes "frag" on your paper, you've got an incomplete sentence. Fragment, meaning "a tiny, brittle shard," first appeared as a noun and later as a verb".
Interesting indeed. No word will probably best put anyone in his or her place the moment he or she begins to think so highly of his or her status or position in the overall scheme of things. Anyone - king or subject, CEO or janitor, celebrity or nobody, no matter the gap in status or wealth - is still a fragment of a population, lost to a world much too big to care in the long run. A fragment today, a fragment of a memory a century from now, just as all of what we know or remember of anyone or anything today are all fragments of our memories or of what's in the record books.
Interesting still is the fact that a "fragment" in the English language, though it may begin with a capital letter and ends with a period, even as a group of words, does not express a complete thought. It is not even a complete sentence. But it is a rich mother lode we can all mine for all kinds of metaphor or analogy. Think about it. Every living thing today is a fragment of whatever it is a part of. Anyone can or may retort with this, "So what? That is neither here nor there".
Yes, "So what?" indeed. But think about this. Interdependence is the backbone of what we know today as modern civilization. Centuries ago, modes of behavior, manners, and the ability to not only recognize but to document what is right or wrong, morally or socially, came about because people realized that interdependence among individuals provided the framework for cooperation and cohesion. What historians do not usually talk about is that somewhere in our genes and all the genes of everything that ever lived is one tiny bit of information that says, "Remember you are a fragment of a whole. Everything you do is not just for self preservation but for the continuance of your existence so that your legacy, though a mere fragment, will live on." Not in so many words, of course, but that is exactly what keeps a species going, how survival is a natural instinct towards longevity, and why cooperation is nothing more than fragments pulling together to better the odds.
On a different level, we only remember fragments of a dream, or realize that we've only achieved fragments of our life's dreams, or ambitions. We may only know fragments about the people we know, and so we also show only fragments of who we are to others. It is a fragmented world, isn't it?
First discovered between 1946 and 1947 by Bedouin shepherds in various caves in Qumran, by the Dead Sea, were scrolls upon scrolls of ancient writings, by an ancient group of people, known or widely believed as the Essene, who independently documented accounts of the scriptures that are in The Bible. Some scrolls were intact but hundreds and hundreds of pieces survived only as mere fragments. Today, most of what can be seen publicly in museums, and who knows how many are in private collections, are fragments of parchments. And they are no less of value than entire scrolls and are in fact subject to all kinds of scrutiny by scholars, historians and scientists. Fragments of writings too vague to get a full story seem more intriguing to researchers. Likely too, there are fragments out there in collectors hands that are counterfeit. There lies the allure and mystery of fragments.
When a young man sees from across a room a face and a smile his interest is piqued not so much by what he sees but what he doesn't yet see or know about her. A mere fragment, an image, a movement, a something - all fragments - are enough to quicken his heartbeat, enough to compel him to move mountains or forged raging rivers just to get to know her, let alone spend even fragments of time to be with her. Fragments.
Such is our world. Such is our history. Our future will be no more organized than a series of potentially probable fragmented events yet to occur. A fragmented handful of individuals will lead our way or lead us astray. So far, we've been fortunate to have had a fragmented group of individuals who were there to shape the workings of civilization. Our history is suffused with individuals the likes of King Solomon, The Prophets, Alexander, Socrates, Archimedes, Washington, Isaac Newton, Einstein and even Hitler and Stalin, Churchill, Eisenhower, many more. Each or as a group, mere fragments but enough to have affected the trajectory of history. Many countless others are lost to such a long and convoluted history as mere fragments but whose lives ever so slightly touched countless others.
There was a fragment of a life and death of one Jose Rizal, in a tiny fragment of an archipelago of 7,000 islands in a vast area of the Pacific, just five generations removed from today, whose contribution to the lives of his contemporaries may be nothing more than a footnote in history. But today's population of about 105 million people can trace their fate to a fragment of their history that occurred one early morning 131 years ago on a field. From a fusillade of a firing squad. Historical figures. Historical fragments. Fragmented events that took one nation to today.
Now, keep this in mind, all we can touch, affect or direct, happens only at fragments of a time. One moment now, a fragment of the past, one moment from now, a fragment of yet to come. Yet we worry too much about what are yet to happen and we anguish over what already occurred. That, unquestionably puts everything way too simply or much too casually, but such are what fragments give us.
Did I not mention early on to "mine for all kinds of metaphor or analogy".
Whoever we are, to the world each a fragment. We are a fragment to a stranger. And so to friends and co-workers if fragments are all that we want to reveal. The janitor or cleaning woman is a fragment to the executive leaving the office late one evening. But so is the executive a fragment to either one, whose take home pay for tonight's labor is surely a fragment of even just the withholding tax for the executive's income. But as fragments go, is one of lesser value to the other?
The executive who decided to stop and talked to inquire how the janitor and his family were doing was a fragment of a moment. The two individuals were two fragments, in a fragment of time, unknown to any observer from a far away view. Far away to listen to their conversation but what happened afterwards is what allows a fragment to loom large above all the other fragments in the world. The executive, upon hearing of the janitor's very sick wife, alone with their two children, all waiting at home, told the janitor to go home. The janitor protested but the executive promised he will talk to the building's manager about it. Then another fragment. He took the janitor home but on the way stopped by to pick up some food to go for the family. But the story did not end there. In a fragment of a snap decision the executive, with the janitor and the children in tow, took the mother of the children to the hospital, and made sure bills were taken care of until she got better and released three days later. Two fragments. Two intersections that were but a moment, a blink, a fragment in the grander scheme we call life.
From far away two tiny fragments that together were made large, but often in life that is all that it will take for a fragment to mean a lot more. Much more than could have been but sometimes fragments conspire to make something larger when least expected and the world is better for it.
Postscript
The fonts of the title word, FRAGmeNT, was intentional. The two letters "me" were in lower case, as intended. Ascribe whatever you like as to what it means to you. Although in this season of giving, it is best that those two letters are in lower case. Indeed.
First discovered between 1946 and 1947 by Bedouin shepherds in various caves in Qumran, by the Dead Sea, were scrolls upon scrolls of ancient writings, by an ancient group of people, known or widely believed as the Essene, who independently documented accounts of the scriptures that are in The Bible. Some scrolls were intact but hundreds and hundreds of pieces survived only as mere fragments. Today, most of what can be seen publicly in museums, and who knows how many are in private collections, are fragments of parchments. And they are no less of value than entire scrolls and are in fact subject to all kinds of scrutiny by scholars, historians and scientists. Fragments of writings too vague to get a full story seem more intriguing to researchers. Likely too, there are fragments out there in collectors hands that are counterfeit. There lies the allure and mystery of fragments.
When a young man sees from across a room a face and a smile his interest is piqued not so much by what he sees but what he doesn't yet see or know about her. A mere fragment, an image, a movement, a something - all fragments - are enough to quicken his heartbeat, enough to compel him to move mountains or forged raging rivers just to get to know her, let alone spend even fragments of time to be with her. Fragments.
Such is our world. Such is our history. Our future will be no more organized than a series of potentially probable fragmented events yet to occur. A fragmented handful of individuals will lead our way or lead us astray. So far, we've been fortunate to have had a fragmented group of individuals who were there to shape the workings of civilization. Our history is suffused with individuals the likes of King Solomon, The Prophets, Alexander, Socrates, Archimedes, Washington, Isaac Newton, Einstein and even Hitler and Stalin, Churchill, Eisenhower, many more. Each or as a group, mere fragments but enough to have affected the trajectory of history. Many countless others are lost to such a long and convoluted history as mere fragments but whose lives ever so slightly touched countless others.
There was a fragment of a life and death of one Jose Rizal, in a tiny fragment of an archipelago of 7,000 islands in a vast area of the Pacific, just five generations removed from today, whose contribution to the lives of his contemporaries may be nothing more than a footnote in history. But today's population of about 105 million people can trace their fate to a fragment of their history that occurred one early morning 131 years ago on a field. From a fusillade of a firing squad. Historical figures. Historical fragments. Fragmented events that took one nation to today.
Now, keep this in mind, all we can touch, affect or direct, happens only at fragments of a time. One moment now, a fragment of the past, one moment from now, a fragment of yet to come. Yet we worry too much about what are yet to happen and we anguish over what already occurred. That, unquestionably puts everything way too simply or much too casually, but such are what fragments give us.
Did I not mention early on to "mine for all kinds of metaphor or analogy".
Whoever we are, to the world each a fragment. We are a fragment to a stranger. And so to friends and co-workers if fragments are all that we want to reveal. The janitor or cleaning woman is a fragment to the executive leaving the office late one evening. But so is the executive a fragment to either one, whose take home pay for tonight's labor is surely a fragment of even just the withholding tax for the executive's income. But as fragments go, is one of lesser value to the other?
The executive who decided to stop and talked to inquire how the janitor and his family were doing was a fragment of a moment. The two individuals were two fragments, in a fragment of time, unknown to any observer from a far away view. Far away to listen to their conversation but what happened afterwards is what allows a fragment to loom large above all the other fragments in the world. The executive, upon hearing of the janitor's very sick wife, alone with their two children, all waiting at home, told the janitor to go home. The janitor protested but the executive promised he will talk to the building's manager about it. Then another fragment. He took the janitor home but on the way stopped by to pick up some food to go for the family. But the story did not end there. In a fragment of a snap decision the executive, with the janitor and the children in tow, took the mother of the children to the hospital, and made sure bills were taken care of until she got better and released three days later. Two fragments. Two intersections that were but a moment, a blink, a fragment in the grander scheme we call life.
From far away two tiny fragments that together were made large, but often in life that is all that it will take for a fragment to mean a lot more. Much more than could have been but sometimes fragments conspire to make something larger when least expected and the world is better for it.
Postscript
The fonts of the title word, FRAGmeNT, was intentional. The two letters "me" were in lower case, as intended. Ascribe whatever you like as to what it means to you. Although in this season of giving, it is best that those two letters are in lower case. Indeed.
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