There is something about the absolute torture of being in love that tears a man into two dynamic components ever so distinctively: The strategically hopping cynic and the passionately pursuing Scrat.
It is a race that is timed against the reverberating rhythms of the heart. The drum-roll so loud that it obliterates all sound of external reasoning, thus leaving man to his own devices. The brain and the heart. The cynic and Scrat.
Scrat begins cautiously: assessing threats and the merits behind chase for his acorn. The cynic lingers back, amused at the antics of Scrat. It is this momentary calm-before the storm that allows Scrat to get a whiff of its acorn. The moment that an object of amusement starts transforming into the mythical prized possession that could change all for Scrat. That would be everything that he ever wanted.
Until, the flirtatious acorn begins its roll down a spiraling road of roses and bruises.
Pursuit starts with a gentle jog. Scrat can still see the rosy road ahead. Scrat can still feel his legs thump every time he deals with a treacherous stumbling block. He marshals on…the acorn is his shining beacon that is to light the way. Plus it is all too close. A hesitant reach of hand away. Ah! The small hesitation is to set the race on.
For now, the acorn has gained speed. Scrat scampers away to get a hold of it again. Lo! a gentle bump of the road pushes it into his hands nearly. Bah! it’s out again. And now , all that ever mattered is the acorn. The feet hurt no more. The bumps scare no more. All Scrat hears is the ubiquitous drum-roll. Until…the road evens out to signal and end to the pursuit?
Crash!! comes thundering down the cynic. In one swift and ruthless jump it has overtaken Scrat to push the acorn away further. More so, Scrat is left reeling and trailing behind this new adversary. The race has now assumed battle proportions.
The drum-roll rises in tempo as the acorn flies further down the ever-twisting path. The scamper is now a fully-fledged run. The cynic brings down rocks on his path with his mighty blows. It jumps ahead of Scrat to connive deceiving ends. Oh the cynic is a mighty opponent. Silent in planning and deadly in execution. But Scrat can see none of it. For all it cares for is the slithering away acorn. The acorn which is all that divine can ever be. The acorn that has transmogrified into an obsessive fixation transcending all emotions that were ever known to Scrat.
Why wouldn’t the acorn slow itself down for a bit ? Why wouldn’t it just jump itself right into his hands?
Pretty soon. The drum-roll has filled the skies. The once-united cynic and Scrat are completely different bodies now. Each pulling the race to their end before giving in to the efforts of the other. The acorn occupies all their efforts. The cynic can see everything around the acorn to help achieve its purpose. Scrat can see nothing beyond the acorn. The acorn is his purpose.
Now…the race is just a noisy regular affair which just might exist till eternity. The acorn, however, seems to be silent about it. Is it just an object that requires pursuit? Is it ever destined to run into the hands of Scrat? Or is headed towards a goal of its own, marooning Scrat to the pain of capitulation before the cynic…or worse…the abyss of eternally numbed emotions.
Scrat will never know. The silent cynic offers to know. While Scrat labors on frantically. He doesn’t need to know.