Part VIII: “The first day, let
there be light
(Winter 2011)
I’m sitting in the passenger seat. The
light green glow from the clock on the console that now reads one twenty-three
pulls my attention away from the window. One twenty-three. I stare at the
digital numbers, they stare back, maliciously. No, I won’t let them have this
power over me, not any more. I return my eyes to the scenery outside the car.
Suddenly I remember when I was here and where here was. This was my road trip
with my friend to Telluride, Colorado last summer. We’re on the border of Texas
and New Mexico. We had just driven through a series of ghost towns. We drove
eighteen hours straight, through the night, from Austin to Telluride. I’m
pulled away from these realizations by the sights I now know to expect next.
The sky above the prairie flatlands that ran out to the east and to the west
from the lonesome country road I was riding along, first seemed like an
infinite abyss filled only by the blackness of midnight, then in an instant the
void was filled in all directions with thousands upon thousands of glowing red
lights - for a moment, something like a pulse, and then all was black again.
These flaming eyes were uniform in height, maybe one hundred and fifty feet
above me and were simultaneous in their illumination. It’s as if the sky parted
its invisible eyelids, momentarily revealing its pressing vision for a moment,
then, realizing it had been caught in the act, nonchalantly closed them again.
This repeats every seven seconds or so, like clockwork. Roaring thunder shook
the air and it became dense with vibration for a few moments. My skin is now
crawling over my body, hairs on end, frightened, but internally I’m still
peaceful, somehow. The world lights up entirely, day invades the night, for a
flash, as somewhere lightning must’ve just struck. In that moment I see three
wings for every red light, surrounding me, continuing out as far as I can see and
they’re spinning zealously. It’s curious to me that, despite the dense clouds,
the blinding lightning, and the deafening thunder, there is no rain at all.
Only the powerful wind propelling the wind turbines, and me. I look to my left,
the driver is my friend still, yet it isn’t him anymore. I see him as he really
is: a ghost. I see the smoke slowly ebb out from his nostrils as he exhales his
last hit off his blunt. The smoke that fills the cab of his car causes a
distortion of the red lights, blurring the edges, making it appear as if red
halos surrounded the eyes. I long to be with the wings and the eyes, and out of
this jeep carrying me to death, I don’t want to become a ghost, and I know
that’s where he’s taking me. It’s now one twenty-four. We continue driving,
while the hundred thousand eyes light up, the thunder rolls, the lightning
reveals the wings of the turbines, and the wings spin in circles. This
continues for an indefinite amount of time.
I leave the car. This hadn’t
happened before. I walk along the road, fighting to stand against the powerful
winds. Up ahead I see that the road seems to end, disappearing where a giant
body of water appears. I continue my slow trudge, and the water seems to be
approaching me as much as I it. I’ve reached its edge. There are two distinct
bodies of water, not one. They seem to be wrestling with each other, trying to
occupy the same space, but remaining as separate even as they are unified. I
fall to my knees and peer into it. The water to the left is tinted blue, its
essence is blue. I see the past, my past. I see the car ride to this moment,
and the decisions that led to this moment, the situations that led to those
decisions, and the life that led me into those situations in an instant. In a
moment like the approach of an ambulance, when it’s next to you, and then
passes you and pulls away, I now am staring into the red waters, the other
waters. The future flashes before me and away from me, in a collage of image
and time. The ground drops from beneath me. The waters are now vapors.
Individual little balls of water, floating in space, suspended. Either the
water had just separated, or the space between the water molecules just
expanded. Yet it maintained its shape. The waters wrestled with each other,
friction, a battle, a birth. Lightning. Electricity erupted up from the surface
of the waters in front of me and reached far up into the sky, pulling my neck
backwards and my head upwards. My knees still felt the ground beneath them, but
the world had flipped, I was both on the ground and above it. The waters are
the clouds over head. The bolt of lightning reached from the ground to the sky
and fell from the sky to the ground. It was blue and it was pink and it was
white.
I open my eyes, the light of the
television I had forgotten to turn off before falling asleep floods into the
space where the darkness that the inside of my eyelids once were. It’s morning.
The images of the dream are still fresh in my mind, and flood through it like a
slide show. I’ve had vivid dreams
before, but this one seemed more than a vivid dream. Maybe it’s because this
one began in one of my favorite memories, the wind turbine field. Memories and
dreams seem to be intertwining more and more these days. Often this had me
waking still under the impression that whatever I had been dreaming of was my
primary concern. Sometimes it takes me a few minutes to realize I’ve woken up.
I turn on my side and feel along the floor alongside my bed matt for my
glasses. The familiar living room is a blur of color, the red of the leather
couches, and the brown of the heavy Indian furniture blends with the beige of
the walls. But as I lift the glasses to my face, the two little worlds of
clarity grow larger as they approach my face until only the edges of my vision
remain fogged and the lenses rest in front of my eyes, just beyond the reach of
my lashes. I’m reminded of something I had heard in physics class. No matter
how close two things get to one another, they never actually touch. I roll off
my matt, and as my hand touches my parent’s Persian carpet, an audible spark of
static electricity jumped between my skin and the fabric of the rug. I wonder,
is that it? Is the illusion of touch something like lightning falling from the
sky? But in reality, no matter how near your finger is to the doorknob, there’s
really a troposphere between them.
As I rise to my feet, after I check the
microwave’s clock in the kitchen which is only separated from the living room
by the bar, which on the kitchen side supports the sink. It’s four forty-four,
one minute before my alarm goes off, and as usual I preemptively switch off the
alarm on my phone, so as to avoid waking anyone else in the apartment up. I
look over at my cat, Noah, sprawled out on the floor, on his back. He’s pawing
at the air with his flame pointed feet, as he usually does when he’s trying to
manipulate me to rub his cotton white stomach. The movement seems different
today, mechanical and at the same time organic. I’m aware of the muscles beneath
his skin, pulling this way and that, like rubber bands. His light orange nose
flares like a rabbit beneath his sky colored eyes. I love his eyes, because
they’re nothing like the eyes of a cat. They’re human. Well, human except for
the mask of orange on his face and ears, the mixes through his body of white
fur. This fur, it’s made up of millions of individual hairs, some white, some
orange, but from this distance it appears as one mass. It’s like the
television, when viewed from afar it looks life like, but if you touch the
screen with your nose, you see individual cells of color. Perspective and
scope, the influence of these things on our perception of reality is paramount.
I watch the movement of his feline arms, the twitching of his nose, the rising
and falling of his lungs under his coat, the sweeping motion of his tail.
Synapses sent form the brain along the nervous system, into the muscles, which
then respond as told by the mind, yet unconscious of sending the commend. It’s
all electricity; no one has to tell their lungs to expand and contract in order
to breathe, electricity propels the life systems, on its own accord. Then when
you move closer to the screen, you see the atoms, the quarks, the leptons. As
it turns out, the building blocks of life are simply little balls of energy, in
ordered spheres of chaos. Light and heat: electricity again. From the smallest
particles in the world, to the World Wide Web, (www., or in Hebrew 666), to the
storms in the sky, electricity is fundamental. Even the atoms of dirt, or
rocks, or stones, or wood, at their base are made up of energy. Even the water,
which conducts electricity, at its root, would not be without energy. And now,
we’ve harnessed it in such a powerful way, we can communicate with it, travel
around the world with it, create with it and even kill with it. Electricity
makes the world go round. What is electricity? We think we control it, because
we harness it, but do we, through any act of will, compel it to continue to
keep our hearts beating?
I walk over to Noah, across the living room of
my parent’s small, cramped apartment, filled beyond maximum capacity and bend
over and stroke his fur. I love watching the fur change from groupings of hair
standing on end to a unified mass of hair, all laying sideways as my hand
passes over them. The vibration of his purr stimulates my hand which runs down
his spine and chest. Straightening up, I stretch my hands to the ceiling,
inhale deeply and exhale. My muscles feel fresh, rejuvenated, filled with oxygen.
I return to the matt and stow it behind the sofa and fold the blankets and set
them neatly on the couch under my pillow. My mind slowly begins to transition
from ponderings, to the day ahead and the life to follow. It’s the first day of
finals and I need to leave my parent’s place in San Antonio by six or so in
order to get to my bus stop in Austin in time to get to my first final, which
begins at eight. I chuckle out loud to myself as the school’s slogan enters my
head, “What starts here changes the world.” I can’t help but feel as I do when
I watch a beer commercial, skeptical. It’s a good slogan, it’s just very grand.
Though I can’t lie to myself; that is where I want to be. I want to be a part
of, or at least to see, the changing of the world. I want to be important, and
to have left a mark, or made a difference in the world. Like every one, I want
my name to mean something a hundred years from now. That’s why I have my plans.
I don’t know how to accomplish these things yet, but I do know how to put myself
in the best possible situation to accomplish these things. I knew, coming out
of high school that my best chance to get into UT was to apply to the liberal
arts department. Once you’re in, you can change majors to something more
prestigious, I told myself. But now I know that I can maintain a higher grade
point average if I stay with my English major, in order to increase my odds to
get into law school. It looks good if your grades improve yearly, just as long
as they don’t start off too low. So I made sure to take the more difficult
classes earlier on in my colligate career. This year, I’m free to build my GPA
with electives. I also take special care to select classes that wouldn’t appear
to be easy if one were to look at my transcript, but that were still well
within my range to pass with high marks. Everything was going according to
plan, my grades have increased significantly each semester and now I was poised
to close with a few 4.0 semesters just in time for grad school.
These thoughts continue to race
through my mind as I selected my clothes for the day out of my laundry basket,
which I kept on the love seat in the living room, as I don’t have any sort of
closet space or dresser since there’s no room for either in the already
overcrowded living room. Blue jeans, the same pair I wear every work day (my
only pair), and a black thermal shirt. I
look over at the microwave again in order to check the time, five o two,
already. Damn, it feels like no matter how much time I give myself in the mornings,
it’s not enough. I tell myself to stay focused; I don’t have time to waste
thoughts. I step into our bathroom, and lock the door that leads to my parent’s
bed room and the one that opens to the living room. I avoid looking at the
mirror as I undress, as is my custom. I don’t much care for the appearance of
unclothed human flesh, especially when it’s my own. I wonder at the obsession
people have with this is, why they waste so much time, money and effort to see
each other without clothes, when we really look better clothed anyway. And if
you happen to be that one in ten thousand who has a nice body, you’re probably
on television showing it off already, not waiting around to share it with quote
unquote regular people, like the ones who drool over you. People spend a lot
more time than they realize, striving for things they already have. Such as
visions of beautiful nudity, when all of the people who are beautiful when
nude, they’ve already seen nude or can see, if they turn on the television or
get on the internet. I have a hard time not judging people who seem to be
slaves to their primal instincts. I appreciate sex, as a beautiful thing, a
gift from God. But this modern, casual idea of sex drives me crazy. We’ve taken
something beautiful, and God given, and made it cheap, dirty, and filled it
with guilt. I guess that’s Satan’s number one task though, perverting the Holy.
I just wish people weren’t so willing to miss out on pure, perfect,
un-perverted sex. They turn this down for immediate gratification, cheap
thrills, and youthful lusts. I reckon the problem is that people don’t
understand that it’s more a spiritual act than it is physical. As I pull the shower curtain back, start the
water, and wait for it to warm up enough to not punish me when I step under the
faucet head. I continue developing my plans. After law school, I’ll need to
actually practice law somewhere, successfully, for some amount of time before
transitioning into politics.
I step under the now lukewarm
water. I waste no time, rapidly cleaning myself, turning off the water while I
soap up, and then back on again when it’s time to rinse off. As I spread the
soap over my skin I notice the beads of water collecting and running down the
ugly, faded looking orange tiles on the bath room wall. This interrupts my
thoughts. Something else forces its way into my crowded mind. Water. They say
our bodies are ninety-eight percent water and if we were to remove all of the
water from an average sized human body, all that would remain would be a small
mound of dust, about three inches high. But, despite this fact, the beads of
water condense and roll along my skin, the same as it does on the plaster tile
wall. What is it that separates me, and my body, my mind, and this water
falling on me? Water conducts electricity. Another interesting fact is that the
amount of salt in the ocean, three point four percent, is the exact same amount
as the salt in human blood, three point four percent. I wonder if this is some
kind of cosmological coincidence. Is coincidence even real? Or is it like luck or fate, just something
we’ve made up to make ourselves feel less at the mercy of the unpredictability
of our universe, the utter failure of our cherished Newtonian physical understanding
of the universe. We like the illusion of control. But the fact is, we people,
we rest in the middle space between two infinities that defy predictability and
order at every turn, the bigness of the universe, and the universe of micro
biology. There are quarks which, one single quark can occupy two difference spaces. There are Quarks, which can move from point A
to point B instantaneously, without traveling the distance between point A and
point B. If you split a Quark, and place half of it in China, and the other
half in America and then reverse the spin of the one in China, at that exact
same moment, the one in America will reverse its spin to match. Photons, that
is light, travel at the speed of light. Unlike, say a car, which if it
approaches a dog at ten miles an hour, and the dog runs away from it at five
miles an hour, the car then would be approaching at five miles an hour. With
photons, if the dog runs from an approaching light beam, at say ten thousand
miles an hour, the photon will still be bearing down on it at the exact same
speed. What the hell? That defies our laws of nature. Obviously, that’s why
Einstein had to come up with relativity. But all relativity is, is luck, or
coincidence, or fate. Essentially it’s, we don’t have a clue, and we don’t have
control, so we need something to give us the illusion of control, so we give it
a name. Science seems to me to be Adam continuing his given work in the garden.
Naming things makes us feel powerful and like we’re in control. It gives us the
comforting illusion that we know what’s coming next. If we can observe 1, then
we observe 2, then we know that the result will be 3. But reality is, infinity
up from one, infinity down from one, infinity between one and two, and
spontaneity lands us at any random interval depending on its fancy in that
particular moment. What really gets me,
in the end is this, why do we, people, essentially simply condensed masses of
water, infused with electricity, or energy, have consciousness?
I turn the water off and step onto
the red matt on the floor, grab the blue towel hanging on my parent’s door to
my right, and dry myself. Dry myself, rather, transfer moisture from the
surface of my skin into the fabric of the towel. I wonder why my skin doesn’t
absorb water like that. I know that science can describe the process, and
explain the difference. But that doesn’t answer my question. My question is,
how do the little packets of energy, that make up the quarks, that make up the
atoms that make up the cells of the towel, know to remain static, as the energy
packets that make up a towel, rather than skin or anything else. What is it
that makes me any different from a towel? At the basest of bases, the smallest
of smalls, we’re identical. Is that why the bible says that stones could sing
the praises of God? Is that why Jesus said not to claim Abraham as their
father? Because God really can raise up children for Himself out of rocks? Did
Jesus really know quantum mechanics over two thousand years ago? What the hell,
because science now gives validity to those crazy ass claims. Maybe the word of
God really is the only reason a towel is a towel, and I am me. Because science
sure as hell can explain, in great detail, that my skin doesn’t absorb water.
But it damn sure hasn’t got any explanation as for why. This is why, any
rational, free thinking person must acknowledge that science is essentially an
exercise in faith. It takes tremendous faith to wake up each morning. Modern
science knows that we have solid grounds for our faith that if we drop an apple
it will fall, but the reality is the leptons in the atoms in the cells that
make it an apple could, if they chose, to move from point A to point B
instantaneously, and transport the apple to the North Pole. As I step off the
mat, I look at the deep blue indentions where my feet had been a moment prior.
Did I just decide to step off the matt? Or did little packets of energy decide
to jump forward, and my mind, ever so dependent on the illusion of control,
fill in the gaps and record my perception accordingly? I would disregard my own
thoughts as the ramblings of an insane man, except for the double slit
experiment which means observation alters the behavior of sub atomic energies.
Thus, if I dropped the apple with observing it, it might just land on the North
Pole or if I didn’t observe myself shower, we might not need drains.
After drying myself, I put on
the clothes I had selected for the day and unlock the bathroom doors. I walk
into the kitchen. Damn! It’s already five thirty eight. That’s probably just
enough time to eat a bowl of cereal, brush my teeth, pack my bag, walk to where
my truck is parked and leave by six. Unfortunately it’s a ten minute walk to my
car from the apartment, because there are not enough spaces in the complex for
all of the cars, so every night a few people have to park outside the gate
along the street. Last night I had been chosen by my late arrival for the honor
of the freezing mid-January trans-apartment complex walk. I pour my traditional
Kashi cereal into the bowl and follow it with the milk. I sit on the counter in
the kitchen because the table has become a shelf for books and bags and
whatever else we don’t have room for the on the floor. As I shovel the
tasteless cereal into my mouth and swallow it half chewed before the subsequent
mouthful is forced in my mind drifts back to my plans. I’ll probably need to
speed by seven or eight miles an hour instead of my usual five, preferred for
its safety, I can’t afford any tickets and cops aren’t supposed to pull you
over for five or less. Eight would be risky, but I needed to get to campus in
time to finish the homework I was too tired to do last night. Those three
additional miles per hour, over the course of the hour and a half drive could
shave off ten to fifteen minutes added on by the walk to my truck I hadn’t
accounted for previously. It can get hard to stay motivated, but I have a plan,
and I have the will power to make that plan happen. We will overcome the
obstacles and won’t let anything prevent us from bringing our destiny to
fruition. The bowl is empty, aside from some left over milk. I drink the
remaining milk and put the bowl and the spoon in the dish washer, put the
necessary books and my laptop in my back pack and leave the apartment. Taking
one last look at the microwave clock as I close the door, it’s five fifty
eight. Everything’s going according to plan.
The winter wind is cold and has
teeth, despite this being Texas, and despite this being San Antonio, Texas, it
was bitterly frigid outside. This is the coldest it had been in Texas, ever.
Yesterday’s news paper by the bus stop said we had reached record lows of
eighteen degrees. As I stepped out from under the protection of the apartment
building I realize it’s raining a bit. Shit. I pick up my pace from a brisk
walk to a flat out run. I get some sort of pleasure out of running with my
heavy backpack on. It really doesn’t seem to be slowing me down that much.
Perhaps the extra motivation of avoiding hypothermia gave my legs special
strength today. The rain drops, once little specks, are now substantial
pellets, almost frozen. I hold my breath as I pass the dumpster. I’m pretty wet
at this point and still only halfway across the complex. I pass the buildings
in a flurry, building 4, building 3, building 2, building 1 and the front gate.
I punch the pass code into the pad just beneath the door handle and fling the
metal door open. It’s rigged with a spring, so it flung back and the handle
caught me just above my right hip. I’m still frantic, so I don’t have time to
acknowledge the pain. I continue my run
down the street that runs adjacent to the apartment. It’s raining an animal
shelter at this point. I’m wet and freezing. Finally I see my truck; it seemed
a lot further this morning than it did last night. Wishing I had a fancy button
on my key to unlock the door from a distance, I pulled my backpack around so
that it was in front of me, unzip the font compartment, and fumble around for
my keys, while running. Found them. I reach the truck, unlock the door, and get
in. The rain sounded like pings of small stones on my car’s metal frame. I put
the key in the ignition, backpack in the passenger seat, and go.
I don’t turn on the radio, because
I use the first leg of this drive to recite verses to myself. Not only do they
give me a peace, but it’s supposed to keep one’s mind sharp as on ages if they
train their mind to memorize passages of any sort, secular or religious. I’m in a rush, so the words pour out like a
waterfall as I pass housing subdivision after housing subdivision, going 55 in
a 45 zone. Psalm 34:17-22, I turn my windshield wipers onto the highest
setting. Luke 9:23-26, I press the AC button and turn the heat on. Romans 8:28
– 29, “I know that God works all things together for the good of those who love
him and are called according to his purpose, and for those he foreknew he also predestined
to be conformed to the likeness of His Son, that he might be the first born
among many children.” As the words left my mouth there was a blinding flash of
light. I heard something. It wasn’t thunder; it sounded more like a sharp
crack. Now there was more cracking. I
slow the vehicle down. Then I saw it, a telephone pole in front of me was
falling over, onto the road. I slam the breaks. The tires don’t have enough
traction and I begin to slide while making that very irritating squeal. My car
skids to a stop maybe 7 yards away from the fallen pole. My heart is racing; I
turn on my hazard lights and step out of the vehicle. The power line that ran
alongside the road, dependent on the large wooden pole, had come down with the
pole. It was jumping around in the street, dancing on the wet pavement, sending
sparks of pink electricity in all directions. I am transfixed. I stare at the
electricity. Pink, blue, and orange sparks send the cable jumping upward, only
to bounce into another puddle of water. I had never seen anything like this. I
felt as if in a trance, or even possessed.
******************************************************************************
He stood there, with a blank expression on
his face for five minutes or so. He watched the electric cable’s play in awe.
For once, his frantic mind was still, void of thought. His inner voice was
finally silent. He was unaware of the cars that had lined up behind him, and
was now unaware of their u-turns. Rain continued to fall, on him, all around
him. It was a sharp rain, the kind that stings the skin. After minutes of
silence, an idea formulates in his mind. A force, beyond him, pulled him back
into his car. Now he was not listening, and obeying, he was simply following.
He follows himself, feeling outside time. As if he had done this before, maybe
in a dream, and was now following through with the déjà vu. Time was no longer
one dimensional, only going forward, linearly. Now time is as it really is,
moving out in all directions as a blanket, rather than a line. He had done this
before, had done this in the future, and was now in the moment where the two
intertwine. His mind was void of thoughts, but knew something all the same. He
knew exactly what to do, what each successive thought and step was, though he
was not aware of his final destination yet. He closed the door, turned the car
around and drove back the way he came.
He drove back to the apartment complex, this time punching the code to
open the gate, and drove up to his parent’s apartment building. A spot was
available right next to their building. He took it. He got out of his truck,
back pack in hand and returned to the apartment. It seemed that he forgot he
was soaked to the bone, because he dropped the bag, took out his laptop,
plugged it in, and began typing right away.
His dripping wet fingers left
small beads of water on the keyboard at first, but as time went on it was more
of a layer of moisture that covered his laptop, rather than independent
collections of water molecules. He didn’t take time to marvel, but he did note
that he was somehow able to recall every thought that had gone through his head
that morning, from the dream to the present. The past was catching up to the
present at a rapid pace. It never reached the fore front of his mind, but a
deep realization was impressed upon it all the same. While all of his plans,
dreams, and work towards being a person who changes the world filled 98% of the
landscape of his time, it was in one moment that his true imprint on this
planet was going to be made. He had willed himself to accomplish more, do
better, and outperform everyone around him as long as he could remember. But
his defining accomplishment had fallen into his lap, unplanned, unprepared, and
unintended. Somewhere deep beneath the waves of thought that he was aware of,
the irony struck him. He worked so hard to do something important, all his
life. But the most important thing he would do came effortlessly.
Accomplishments hold some weight; they affect the world, momentarily and on a
very small scale. But this, these words he was writing, had the potential to
outlast his life time. Affect generations of people. Who has more eternal
clout, a wealthy politician or a poor writer? Only time would be able to tell.
But the ripple effects of one moment’s inspiration would never be lost on him
again. Somewhere deep inside him he realized that a moment can be a black hole,
which defies the rules of space and density. A lifetime of effort, importance
and gravity can somehow be pushed into the space of a few minutes. As he drew
to the end of his frantic typing, he felt complete. He wasn’t bothered by
missing class. Somehow, now, it seemed less important. He wasn’t sure what it
was, but something inside him had just changed, and changed permanently. Often
the biggest changes in life occur beneath the awareness of the person or thing
being changed. While countless hours of analysis, argument and thought had
brought no conclusion, a moment outside these parameters had all the answers.
As he pressed the save icon he thought to himself that he’d like to go for a
walk in the rain. Once I learn to not need to leave a legacy that I’ll final be able to do the latter.
