 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
Mark Cuban's Blog
The Academy of
Thought.
I had one of those moments recently.
The moment that sends your mind reelling backwards through time and many miles across the globe.
A reflection on life. Life flashed before my eyes, but because I was in no danger, I could pause, look, analyze
wherever I chose. Where I stopped to look, where my heart pangs yearned for those times, it was there I
knew were the important parts of life. The moments that I should always remember, but more importantly the
moments that I should continue making in my life.
I did not pause on academy -- I paused on Cody, Lisa, Jennifer.
I did not stop and analyze Walla Walla College, instead I focused and fondly remembered Jackie, John,
Kimberly and yes Village Hall.
I paused to feel the love of old friends. And in stopping, I tore open the soul-wound that leaving creates,
remembering that I had forgotten.
We grow, move on, stay put, everything changes, everything stays the same. But today there is no excuse. I
can write. I can call. I can email. From now on I will.
The energy required to maintain a friendship is indeed worthwhile after all.
October 13, 2004
I was working in the lab late one night, huh, reminds me of a song. Anyway -- I was cutting through a
particularly tough and enlarged section of temporal bone. (That being one of the bones in the skull).
Attempting to extract the brain, in-tact and primed for a photo shoot. I began to reflect the beauty of the human
condition. Think Ricky Fitts in "American Beauty." The visual stimuli were fascinating -- the red and browns,
the yellow and greens. The blue vessels that
crawl all over the gray crevassed brain.
It truely is beautiful. A work of art. But then I step in. I make it didactic. I remove the beauty and
leave raw data. Quantitative analysis of the theater of the body. I might as well teach someone to "see" a
Picasso from a text book. I dissect and I cut. I pull apart pieces that do not exist alone, should not have a
name, classified decades ago by some insane pundit who started me down the path where I now exist.
No, the job description I have is wholly inadequate. You can not capture what I do in a single
breath, or ten, or a thousand. It can only be felt. Understood when you hold a cold Kidney, or a warm hand.
Contemplated when you cut, when you learn, when you discover, and when you heal. Realized when the
mystery is solved and disaster is diverted. Maybe this one has passed. So to may hundreds more. But we
are one death closer to saving millions.