Living In-Between Earth and Sky

—Rocky Mountain Reflections Photography

Sometimes I think we’re alone in the universe, and sometimes I think we’re not.  In either case the idea is quite staggering.

~Arthur C. Clark

—Tumblr photo

Years later, when I spend countless hours working with numbers, when I fall asleep at night thinking about formulas, working out equations in my head, I slip into unconsciousness and the numbers fade away to a more surreal world where the fine line between reality and dreaming blurs.

—Tumblr photo

We can’t solve our problems from the same state of consciousness from which we created them.     ~Albert Einstein

Jenn is gone before I catch my breath to speak again. A donkey, loaded with boxes of concession supplies, passes me followed by a man whacking its backside with a stick. And I am left alone on some stone stair far up in the Andes, far above Bogotá, far from my own country, far from anyone who speaks my language, far from anything familiar.

So I pack my things, nothing precious

all things sacred

—Alanis Morissette

—Tony Rowell/Astrophotostore

I sink down into my worn green fisherman’s chair, dig my old, black dusty boots into the hard dirt, and try again to find formations in the much too bright sky. Somewhere along this odd path of existence that was set in motion for me, I decided this idea—that the brightness of stars engulfing the nothingness of the universe—was the metaphor of my life. I’d written it down in a old notebook under a section I labeled notes. But at some point else along this path, I changed my mind because I decided that it really didn’t make much sense. As each chapter of life unfolds, everything begins to morph. The metaphors always changing. In college, I had taken notes. I knew things. Things made sense. Now I take notes on life. Nothing makes sense.

“Marty, look, Cassiopeia,” David says shattering the absolute stillness of the night.

He points toward the sky and waves his finger in a W, but nothing stands out at me. A shooting star slides across the sky. Shooting stars are a warning of change. I know this because I’ve seen thousands. Back in November before I graduated college and left that tiny Greek town in Ohio for the open road and a summer of working in Yellowstone, I didn’t just see a shooting star; I saw an entire goddamn meteor shower.

—Hubble Image

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

—Leonardo da Vinci

I tried to remember—piece together the previous night. I had gone out dancing with Jessica. We drank some fruity concoctions. Then the rubber band fight. That tends to happen with Jessica—rubber band fights, but not usually in bars. The last thing I remember was going for her right arm, but I missed. I hit the man sitting on the other side of her. He was wearing one of those button up tropical shirts with flamingos all over it. And a visor with a plush flamingo head sticking out of the rim. When the rubber band snapped against his left wrist, he turned and gave me a death stare that would have probably melted my spine if it weren’t for all those fruity drinks Jessica kept ordering. Don’t fuck with the flamingo, he had said in a gruff voice.

—Salvador Dali

…disorder or entropy always increases with time.  In other words, it is Murphy’s Law—things get worse….First, there is the thermodynamic arrow of time—the direction of time in which disorder or entropy increases.  Second, there is the psychological arrow of time.  This is the direction in which we feel time passes—the direction of time in which we remember the past, but not the future.  Third, there is the cosmological arrow of time.  This is the direction of time in which the universe is expanding rather than contracting.

—Stephen Hawking

Occasionally, we take in transients traveling through town. A great way to connect with the outside world, Ariel tells me. She meets these people in coffee houses and meditation circles. She invites them to stay as long as they need for the exchange of ideas and artwork.

Calli paints robots and cats on all of our living room walls. And her lover, Heather, does somersaults back and forth across the floor. Her art she calls it.