Langoliers are Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Sometimes I think that I should just let my childhood nostalgia live on strong, in memory, rather than to seek to revive it. It is always disappointing. A lot of the time, especially with this day and age, you can easily track down virtually any movie, tv show, or book that you loved as a kid. It’s almost too easy. Part of me is thrilled at the thought, and the other part of me knows that the best part of nostalgic back-flashes is the flash, and nothing more. Then again, the moment when you get your hands on something again that you’ve lost, the moment when you are sure you’ll get the chance to find out all over again exactly what compelled you so much when you were younger, is really a pretty exciting moment. That must be why the end result is so disappointing.

Regardless, I certainly am the sort of person who is much more given to exploring childhood interests than most people. In fact, Brady, you’ll actually have to comment this time, because I want you to remind me of the name of that Mexican punch that you and Dave used to like so much. I remember that I kept tasting it, trying to decide whether or not I liked it, and I had a sort of epiphany that the drink was like Nostalgia. And I suppose, I could call the punch by that name instead, but I want to track it down is the angle. It tasted familiar, but long-away so…and I simply could not tell if I liked it for its taste, or for its familiarity. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was drugged!

Speaking of your brother though, I’ll never forget the time he indulged one of my nostalgic cravings. I told him that I loved The Chipmunk Adventure movie as a kid, and one day he pulls out an old VHS tape with it on there for me to borrow. I’m pretty sure I snatched it, and literally jumped up and down, with a smile from ear to ear. It was probably about two in the morning when I got home with it, but I started watching it the second I got there, and loudly enough that I woke some roommates up, as I recall. Actually, when they asked me to turn it down, I pretty much didn’t. You must be excited about something to justify listening to it as loudly as you want in the middle of the night, right? Indeed!

Some things I revisit are much better than others (My Little Pony: The Movie). But it really is interesting to see how much of my heart is in silly little things like that. The best way I can conceive to keep these memories at their best would be to treat them like the memory of my cousins’ secret room. This room could probably be accessed by a door (somewhere), but I never knew of one. I only went in there once, and it was through a secret passageway underneath the bathroom sink. It opened up into this huge room with steps that led up to a reading area with soft pillows, and a wall painted with a giant rainbow. That’s pretty much the brightest rainbow in my memory. However, another came close a month ago. I actually saw it on the day I was leaving Logan. It was the first full rainbow I think I have ever seen, and it was so incredibly bright, that I had to pull over on the side of the highway to get a better look. It was a nice way to leave the valley.

Though, what I was getting at is that my childhood ought to be considered like that secret room, with a passageway I must concede that I simply can’t fit through anymore. Sure there’s probably a door I could go through to get in, but it wouldn’t be the same experience. The ceilings wouldn’t look so high on the way in, for one thing. And the rainbow wouldn’t be as bright, like Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. That’s corny to say, put that’s really the best comparison I have for it.

Although, next to the memory of the secret room, I’m embarrassed to mention the object of my latest childhood memory revival. I recently rented the movie The Langoliers, based on the book by Stephen King, from the library. It was mostly horrible. However, I could recognize a bit of what struck me with the storyline as a kid (not too young a kid at this point). Anyway, this plane flies through some rip in the fabric of time into the past. Although, the past is really not some awesome adventure like Back to the Future. It is completely empty, without people, smells, tastes, and sounds, except for a mysterious and foreboding noise that keeps getting closer. This noise is the Langoliers, who are described by one of the characters as creatures consisting of only hair and teeth, which come after all the lazy and unproductive children in the world, and eat them. His father had told him about them when he was a boy, to torment him into being an overachiever. Now they were real. And they were devouring the world, and the past. I guess the past is as useless as those lazy boys and girls. But anyway, the passengers must escape the Langoliers, and get back into the present.





Although the movie is mostly pretty awful in parts, I really love the idea behind it. For me, it explores the feelings and fears of not having a purpose. Although, maybe when I was younger it was the idea of loneliness or being unimportant that got to me. Don't ask why I like to reflect on my creepier childhood memories as well, I'm not sure about that. Anyhow, this story paints a picture that is maddeningly empty, with creatures that embody “the vast beast-whistle of space,” high on your tail to clear you out too. With a world full of Langoliers, you are always on the run. "And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking, and racing around to come up behind you again." Sorry, I started quoting Pink Floyd.

Anyway, it is evident that the procrastinating reminiscent types wouldn't stand a chance against these Langoliers. Gee, with me not having a job right now and all, maybe I ought to watch my back. Though, I'm pretty sure that if a Langolier tried to gobble me up, it'd burst in a painful shower of nostalgia rainbows. But as of now, I think I'm safe anyway. I am not entirely unproductive. According to a recent email, I made a couple bucks in royalties with this t-shirt I made a long time ago. That’s right, I have officially sold two of them. I think I made more money at work while I was killing the time making that shirt than I've gotten from selling it. On the bright side, though, at least a couple bucks will buy me 10 lbs. of potatoes.

I Don't Want to Live in a Wigwam

So, get this, the place that I moved into this summer has a movie rack with 18 seasons of Star Trek (all of the original series, including the animated series, the Next Generation series, and the Deep Space Nine series). It also has both the theatrical and extended versions of The Lord of the Rings movies, all three Tolkien cartoons (with custom covers and internet downloads to replace various atrocities), every Star Wars dvd (yes, the kind where you can view the original along with the pointless George Lucas reboots that came out about 12 years ago), and…need I go on? This person is obviously a hardcore nerd, right? Yeah, kinda, but more accurately, he’s my brother.

Matt shares a duplex in Salt Lake with my sister Ali and her husband. And, he's good enough to let me live here too until I graduate. So, really, we are once again a bunch of Dukes under the same roof. And already, it feels a bit like I’m reliving some of my childhood summers. I currently don’t have a job yet, so it especially feels that way. One of my favorite things about this location is that there is a park right on the other side of the fence in our back yard.



So it is fun to go for walks on the trails, and I am fully intending to get some yard games to play out there (croquet, all the way!). We also all want to start playing some tennis in the courts that are there in the park. I'm considering getting a retro bike for the trails, as well. I also love to go hang out there at night.

My sister and I actually played Dead Poets Society there one night. We snuck out with flashlights, and I read her what I consider the coolest thing ever to read aloud, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” It was actually a lot of fun, especially since my brother’s cute little kitties actually followed us, and started frolicking around during the reading. I love reading at night in the park! I read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at night in a park in my neighborhood in Logan, and it set the mood so perfectly. So, we are certainly planning to try more Dead Poets nights again. My sis wants me to read her “something Greek” next time :)

Apparently, though, you aren’t supposed to be in any public parks around here at night. Ali actually showed me the sign that said it was closed from 10 pm to 6 am. Nuts to that! I don’t see the problem. On the plus side, it will make those Dead Poets nights more exciting, keeping in mind that we are truly doing something we aren’t supposed to be :>

I really love being here with my family! And think my brother is the best despite my cracks about his nerdish…leanings. Love ya, Matt! Also, my sister’s been wanting me to move out here for years, but I certainly have been taking my time getting through college. Now I’ve just got a Distance Ed. independent study class left to do this summer, and then I’m on to student teaching in the fall at (a lavish Neil Peart drum roll, please)…Northwest Middle School. Yes, I’ve decided to try my hand at a middle school. More details to come, but it should be exciting. I fully expect some tips from you sometime, Amanda.

I also recently had a birthday on Saturday. That's 25! It is a time of transition, I suppose. I was about to get all reflective about where I am in life, and where I want to be going, and what state of mind I have, and ought to, but now I am reminded of my first experience with a Yoga class (which I tried for kicks on my birthday). I was compelled by some of the things the instructor was asking us to think about through the exercises. It came as quite a surprise, actually. I’m at least a moderate skeptic about the point of New Age trends. Anyway, some of the ideas behind it really advocate a sense of self-awareness and acceptance of your current state of mind and body, with its strengths and limitations. I think that seems to be a pretty valuable concept however you go about exploring it. Also, it’s nice to clear time in your schedule for quiet reflection. Looks like for the moment, I have a bit of an abundance of free time. So, maybe I'll add Yoga to the list of things to try this summer. Most likely, I'll be spending more time than I want to doing homework. Blah.

Well, there’s the update. Thanks to those who got me a present/made me dinner, and such. Give yourselves a good pat on the back, from me (vicarious-like). No hugs, though.

I'll "Get" You, My Pretty, and Your Little Blog Too...

As much as I wanted to resist the trend of blogging when it was surfacing a few years ago, I think I can now admit that I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing them. I was just resistant because it was popular. I think that’s the same reason I avoided reading any Harry Potter books until about after the third film was made (even when my mom gave one to me for Christmas). In fact, I got an unwanted Harry Potter book on two separate Christmases. I came to find out later that the second incident was just a chance for someone to get rid of his ex-wife’s book. “Great…thanks…” But now, I honestly can say they are entertaining enough, but not my thing.

Oh, yes, so, what I was getting at with the fact that I like reading blogs is that I was the sort of child that practically coveted the idea of journal reading. It was honestly difficult for me to not read my family members' journals. Sad, I know. What’s worse is that I remember the time I cracked. I enjoyed learning that my brother had a crush on the star of the high school musical, yet, I also felt rightfully guilty. Now with people writing blogs, there is no more guilt to be had. The people that write them WANT readers, and comments, and…heck, maybe some of them want web-browsing strangers reading their blogs too (never saw the point of that personally, though). So, that curiosity I had as a child is now somewhat catered. Unfortunately, not enough people I know (care about) write one, and apparently not enough of my good friends and family share my curiosity, and want to read mine.

I was babysitting for my brother Scott the other day, and happened to mention something about my blog. He asked, “So, essentially, it’s a journal?” I hesitated for a sec, and essentially agreed. He seemed uninterested in the idea. Okay, so, that’s fine that he doesn’t care to hear about the life and thoughts of some stranger, but I think something that gets close to the journal of a family member sounds very interesting to read. In fact, at one time I thought it would be cool to be an English teacher, because they get to read so much of their students’ work, and thus get to know them better than the teachers of the other subjects, I would wager. I think that was the case for me. My English teachers seemed to know me pretty well. At least, they seemed to like me pretty well. Anyhow, I’m guessing there must be some people like me, or else there would be no need for those little diaries with the locks on them. I never had one of those. I guess I didn’t mind if someone read what I had to say.

This reminds me of a writing group I was involved with a few years back called Literary Den. I used to spend some time on the Bebo social network, as this is where a good friend (Beanbag Skratchbob) advertised and posted his music. We both ended up posting some of the chapters from books we were working on there as well. By way of that, I joined a small writers group that eventually evolved into Literary Den. As I came to find out, it was mostly a bunch of teenagers. But surprisingly, I enjoyed being a part of it despite the fact. I honestly found it fulfilling to learn about these kids from the UK. I read their stories, gave them feedback, and participated as a moderator for their website. I actually also found myself praying for personal concerns I knew that they were facing. I shared an email with my testimony to one of them, and shared the LDS.org website with another. It was an experience that I would say is completely the opposite of times on Facebook where you make “friends” with a bunch of people you know, but never talk to them.

My Beanbag Skratchbob friend (aka Dave), told me it was a neat service I was giving, reading these kids’ stories while I was at work (some being incredibly long), and getting back to them within a couple days. It didn’t seem that way to me at all. I enjoyed it. I felt that their work deserved some attention and praise after all the time they put into it. They deserved to know that the world was a little bit more aware of them. If that was service, I hope that the many other service opportunities I will have down the line will be so easy and enjoyable.

I admit, I’m not the most charitable person in the world. I am usually fully aware when I am doing service for people. I'm pretty sure there is something about that awareness and the spirit of the act that are incongruous. I need some practice with willingly (and unconciously) extending more service. How do you practice something that you hope to do unconciously? Yes, I ask more questions to avoid doing things...

I guess there is that one strength I may have regarding the matter, that I love getting to know people better. To this aim, it's really pretty fun and enlightening not only to read various writings, but to also inquire after the meaning behind music compositions, and works of art. My nephew Brandon is a pretty amazing artist, and was showing me a notebook full of his drawings. I asked about some of the creatures he had drawn, saying that they reminded me of C.S. Lewis's childhood drawings, as well as old Genesis album covers. Turns out, the creatures were the imagimary friends that he and his brother had as little kids. Honestly, what's more interesting than learning about childhood imaginary friends? Especially when they looked like satyrs and foxes?

I always wanted to have had an imaginary friend! I feel like I wasn't as creative or delightfully crazy (as kids are allowed to be) as I would have liked to be. So, looking at the sketchbook was truly the highlight of that day. Hmm, but perhaps the fact that I actually enjoy that sort of thing makes it, in fact, selfish. Lousy Immanuel Kant! No one is ever good enough according to him!

...well, thanks for reading. I actually started out with something more relevant in mind to say, but ended up with this. This. For your sakes, though, at least you know I like to read your blogs :)

Philosophies of Teaching, Puzzle-piecing, Pop Culture, and Book-reading

The other day I was out at Mt. Logan Middle School, sitting in the back observing class, taking notes, wondering if I would be mistaken for some sort of Billy Madison. Afterwards, I stayed to help prep students for the Science Bowl, and before we got started one of them asks, “So, you’re not a student, are you?”

“Actually, I AM,” I answered with wide eyes and a smile. Then, a deadly silence…”…at the university,” I clarified, and further explained.

I’m doing my clinicals at the middle school this semester so I can get an idea of the age group I want to teach. Believe it or not, I actually preferred my middle school years over my high school years. It was a very impressionable age for me, and somehow I happened to have a lot more confidence as a pre/young teen than at any other time in my life.

I feel like perhaps it is at this age that I can best accomplish some of my primary goals as a teacher: Help the students develop more enthusiasm for science than they had coming into the class, and cultivate an interest for science outside of the classroom. These objectives are actually fairly impractical to measure. My methods teacher last semester called me a hippie for my subjective values as a science teacher. Well, sure I want the kids to understand cell and organ function, chemical reactions, and evolution. But I would rather convince them of the importance of curiosity, observation, investigation, and imagination through science so that they can apply it to their own personal interests and pursuits.

I hope that a good way to facilitate this is by incorporating a few generally untraditional ways of exploring science. I first plan to incorporate more writing about topics in science than any of my teachers ever did. I also want to examine the history of scientific thought as well as the societal influence/inference of science, including ethics. Another helpful idea mentioned in one of my classes was letting the students read a variety of trade books for your content area. I love this idea. I never got to read a fictional novel for any of my science classes. Even a non-fiction book would have been fun, if it was something other than the text book. Actually, my professor liked this idea so much that he is letting us find and review some trade books that we would use in our classrooms instead of taking our final. I’m glad, as I was going to do this eventually anyway.

So, after I finished up at the middle school, I went over to Borders to browse what they had in the way of science books, and to browse in general. I actually came across the strangest jigsaw puzzle I’ve ever seen. It was of The Beatles' White Album!

I know some of those puzzle-lovers want a challenge, but, seriously, how is it fulfilling to put together a picture of a white void? How do you even put into words the progress of your puzzle assemblage?

“Well, I finished another white section. Gee, that took me a lot longer than the last one.”

What a boring way to spend your time!

Anyway, I actually found a copy of The War of the Worlds for $3.99 that came with a cd where you can listen to the radio broadcast adaption with Orson Welles. It also has the text to the radio broadcast, and a bunch of reactions from people that really thought that the world was coming to an end. Haha, classic! Plus, the foreword is written by Ray Bradbury, so, all around, this was a great find. I’ve actually been wanting to get into old science fiction (H.G. Wells, Joules Verne, etc.). Though, I'd really actually peg this early stuff as fantasy.

It’s really just entertaining to look back on the time that space travel was fantastic, when the aim in the writing surrounding it was to tell an imaginative story of adventure with the absurd charm of a dream or unease of a nightmare, rather than to predict what may actually happen in the future. Although, when such predictions explore the extreme and ethical ramifications that lie in wait of our potential abuse of science and technology, it is a great deal more interesting.

Besides the science trade books, I also stumbled upon this marvelous (I feel silly for using that word, but it IS) book series that I am really excited to get into. It’s called Philosophy and Pop Culture. Now, I’m sure that there’s a book for everyone in this series from Philosophy and The Legend of Zelda to Philosophy and Metallica. In fact, it actually happened that about 80% of the ones they had in stock involved my absolute favorite tv shows. There was an edition of Lost, The Office, House, The Simpsons AND Seinfeld. There was also a Batman one.

I was totally filled with glee! I mean, this is basically my favorite intellectual passion combined with my favorite television entertainment. They are actually $20 each, but just too perfect for my personality to pass up. If you want to know what to get me for a gift, there you have it. Except, I bought the Lost one already, so, not that one. I looked them up on the net, and there is also a Beatles and Pink Floyd edition, which sound particularly awesome.

Hmm, I don’t know why I buy so many books sometimes. I’ve only read about half of what I own, if entirely all the way through at that. It’s weird, I like books, but I don’t especially enjoy reading. For long. I’m actually a relatively slow reader, perhaps because, for one thing, I say each word in my head. I honestly thought everyone did that! In fact, I was pretty surprised when I asked people out of curiosity if they said the words in their heads or just processed the words, and they said the latter. Huh. I don’t think I can do that very well, if at all, really. But I can’t do Magic Eye, the Spock hand gesture, or even sprawl the toes of my left foot either, so, there are a lot of seemingly simple skills that I lack. Bogus.

The real problem with my inner narrator, however, is that she is picky about what books to read. For instance, I remember that in high school I only got one or two pages through Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My sentences had become a grammatical train wreck, and it was so annoying that I literally chucked the book across the room. Yes, my rashness did result in some spinal injury. But whether that regards myself or the book in question, you are free to interpret as you will. I think that the beginning of The Sound and the Fury may have been a similar experience, but that version of my inner narrator sounded more confused than overly-animated, so it wasn’t quite as bad.

George Costanza’s character on Seinfeld actually reads the same way, but doesn’t like to read often because he hates the nasally sound of his voice. So, when he had to read a business management book for work, he pretended to have vision problems so he could get book on tape. The funny thing was that the person narrating on the tape ended up sounding exactly like him. But he had the right idea. Sometimes if I can’t take what the reading does to my inner voice, perhaps the best solution is to find a different voice.

You know how you can custom order just about anything? What if you could pick a book and a celebrity, and get a custom made audio book? Wow, that would be expensive! If I were rich, though, I may use this service to actually irritate the celebrities I don’t like. Okay Chris Rock, you get to read Sense and Sensibility, and Rodney Dangerfield, how bout you read The Epic of Gilgamesh? And Matthew McConaughey, why, you get to read Taber's Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary. Doubly, if you wanted to irritate anyone else, what could be better than popping in any one these horrific audio books?!

Seriously, though, this would be pretty cool if it were practical. Luckily, sometimes you just run into really serendipitous combinations of book and narrator. I got a free download of The Odyssey with Ian Mckellen! And I saw an audio narration of The Bible by James Earl Jones once. Just imagine Darth Vader reading the Old Testament! Oooh ho ho :0 But then you can switch over to Mufasa reading the New, if you like. Or if you like irony, imagine Darth Vader the entire time. Then again, the image of Vader doesn’t exactly invite the Spirit, so maybe you ought to hold off on that purchase altogether.

Speaking of audio books, if you are interested, there are a bunch of free ones available for download here. Maybe there’s something for you. I’m planning on giving Adventures of Huckleberry Finn a second chance sometime, now that I can get through it without allowing myself to take on a Southern drawl. Ugh. That was incredibly annoying.

Beautiful Drowning

I wonder sometimes whether or not we as Latter-Day Saints hold the content of personal revelation too sacredly. By that I actually mean, too privately. It’s true, there are many spiritual experiences that I certainly believe are designed to be a personal guide strictly for self, family, and close friends. I have had these experiences before, and shared them with few. However, I feel that there are many experiences that while privately revealed, are absolutely meant to be openly declared to anyone and everyone who will hear.

I had one of these experiences last year, and I only shared it in full with my friend David. Somehow, I felt like no one else would realize the depth that the experience had in my heart. I regret feeling that way. I share it now because I am discontent in holding it privately. I want the desire I felt to fill you, in some capacity. I want the realization I felt to reach you. I wish to know if and how you have been affected with similar desires and realizations, that I may thereby come to relive and continuously feel the sense of unity which invigorated me at that time.

Spoiler Alert: This message is for Bradford. Yes, YOU, Bradford. Sitting there at work...reading my blog. Be warned that by continuing to read this you will officially be forfitting your chance to interpret my poem,"Cosmos in a Workshirt," as I am about to unveil its meaning.

It begins with a man, which, a few of you may agree, I am entirely too preoccupied with. If any of you have ever wondered why I especially love Ralph Waldo Emerson, you get to learn more about that today. The simplest answer is: I feel he connects me to the rest of the world.

I remember the day that I bought my simple edition of some of his most popular essays. I had just begun to read the first essay, History, before my geology class, and I felt with a sudden sureness what I had never actually known before. History is really not about the past. It is about me, and the world around me. The same conflicts, emotions, and resolutions of purpose from the past are ongoing today. We rejoice in certain stories and events because there is something true and living about them. And as time goes along and we change, we identify with new writers and people. People like us-- more like ourselves than words on a page or ancient works of art lead us to believe. The past can have a likeness to our lives that feels almost akin to personal memory. This epiphany could have come in any number of ways, but it came through Ralph Waldo Emerson, after at least a year of college, through a book that cost me less than two dollars.

Not only did the ideas Emerson presented fill me with such happiness as this, but reading the words themselves reminded me of one of my closest friends in the world, David Moser. When he came home from his mission, I sent him a copy of this book of essays, with an inscription. I remember that I had told him that whenever I was in need of self-discovery, I returned to this book, and that whenever I returned to this book, I was somehow reminded of him. The first real connection—I found my friend in those pages when I was initially looking to learn more about myself. I felt we were both in there, in the same words. Little did I know, through reading Emerson, I was in store for much more than that connection.

About two years ago, I purchased a biography about Ralph Waldo Emerson called Emerson: The Mind on Fire. In it, I came across the story of a dream that Emerson once had, that thereafter served as one of the most powerful metaphors in his writing, which he would draw back on time and again. He describes it briefly:

“I dreamed that I floated at will in the great Ether, and I saw this world floating also not far off, but diminished to the size of an apple. Then an angel took it in his hand and brought it to me and said, ‘This must thou eat.’ And I ate the world.”

This dream, this image, became absolutely fascinating to me. It was so powerful. I wanted the same dream. The same revelation. But I also wanted it to feel personal, somehow. I wanted to sense that sort of literal connection with the world, to know what it felt like to take it in, to be strengthened by it. I wanted to experience this vision for myself. Believing that I had as much right to these impressions as Emerson, or any other great mind in history, I decided to pray for it. After all, it was a good desire. Though I pleaded for it, I can’t say I honestly expected it. Despite that, as surely as I had asked, I received an answer.

An odd fact came into my mind randomly one day, which I learned from reading in my meteorology text book. I recalled having read that the number of molecules in a breath of air is the same as the number of known stars in the universe. Suddenly, a distinct image came into my mind of myself surrounded by a miniature scale of the universe. And as I took a breath, all of the stars, planets, galaxies and beyond were coming into my body and filling my lungs. It was amazing! I felt full of extraordinary energy and light. I immediately knew that there was a connection beyond the scale and scope of the world in store for me to fully realize.

This image took a universe that I knew to be billions of years old, and larger than I could fathom, and let it pass in and out of my lungs within the duration of a simple breath. I felt that an individual soul was so much more valuable, undoubtedly more beautiful, and vastly more eternal than everything else that exists. In considering the limited grasp I had of how grand and incomprehensible the universe is, I knew more than I ever had in my life, at that moment, what was meant by, “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”

As I mentioned a few entries ago, it was during the time I was in the mood to write poems that I decided to share some of my personal experiences with more people. So, I ended up writing a poem that relates this event:

-Cosmos in a Workshirt-

That apple-sized world seized my fascination;
I wanted to dream it, hold it, eat it- possess it.
I might have asked, “How dare I crave that nourishment
That enlivened the likes of his prophetic mind?”
If I had not known him well enough.

The pages of his History,
Stone tablets, the width of perpetuity!
Each character carved deep. Each one repeats.
I own his mind? He mine? that apple is as good as mine.

I prayed for the invitation of his angel,
“This must thou eat.”
The same visitation-- unique.
For I wanted to feel the world, in me.

Though ardently I asked, I never thought
To see this image come to pass.
God must have had a love-filled laugh
When that joy struck, and bloomed…
To fill my lungs—ten to the power of twenty-two!

That is the number, more or less,
Of molecules within a breath.
Not of that alone, but also this,
The stars in all the skies.

This fact itself, coincidence, just
Worthy of footnote in my science text.
Till God let me watch and feel those stars
Gather inside my chest.

O, how I will outlast you, Night! Your lights go out
Within the time it takes me to exhale.
How beautiful you are, I know-
Yet compared with me, a brief faint glow!

My Emerson, I dare say this gift exceeds your dream
Of one mere apple eaten - the rest high in the trees.
Though with it in you, and you in me,
You’ll come to it at last. You’ll come to taste
Another world, afloat, eager to be grasped.

I'm thinking now on one of my recent favorite songs, "Overcome" by Live, which actually reminds me quite a bit of my experience. It is on my Live playlist. I suggest you listen to it if you can, but here are the lyrics:

Even now, the world is bleeding,

but feeling just fine, all numb in our castle,

where we're always free to choose, never free enough to find.

I wish something would break, cuz we're running out of time.

And I am overcome, yeah. I am overcome.

Holy water in my lungs. I am overcome.

These women in the street, pulling out their hair.

My master's in the yard, giving light to the unaware.

This plastic little place is just a step amongst the stairs.

And I am overcome, yeah. I am overcome, baby.

Holy water in my lungs, yeah. I am overcome.

So drive me out, yeah, out to that open field.

Turn the ignition off and spin around.

Your help is here, but I'm parked in this open space,

blocking the gates of love.

And I am overcome, yeah. I am overcome, baby.

Holy water in my lungs, yeah. I am overcome, yeah.

And I am overcome, oh Lord. I am overcome, baby.

Holy water in my lungs, holy water, holy water.

I am overcome.

Beautiful drowning, this beautiful drowning.

This holy water, this holy water is in my lungs.

And I am overcome. I am overcome, yeah.

I am overcome. I am overcome.

That is an incredible song! The emotion he puts into it is overwhelming. I really am quite moved by the phrase, “beautiful drowning." I feel I know just what he means by it!

Anyway, this just isn’t the sort of experience you tell your friends about at parties. I don’t know how to share moments like these, the kinds that keep me believing in myself, and in the world, and in the power of prayer. I’d like to know how to revive this feeling from day to day. I want to hear about how those around me have come to discover this feeling. I want to urge those that don’t know personally where they fit in and connect with everything around them (with me, with you, with the past, with the future) to find a way. I’d like to think that all it takes is a spark, that they can keep feeding until they get a flame. Until the mind that connects us all is “the mind on fire.”