We tend to capture moments like photographs, snapshots of time.
And so it was that two moments — the moment I thought I’d never have contact with my friend again and the moment we reconnected — connected.
The first moment manifested itself physically — heart palpitations, headaches, sudden hearing loss, panic, fear.
The second moment did, too.
The headache patterns changed and hearing returned to my left ear (or, rather, the new tinnitus patterns disappeared and my eardrum stopped rattling). My heart stopped skipping beats. I stopped sighing frequently.
With a plenitude, multitude, variety of friends, every one contributes to my health.
With seven-plus billion of us and our ecosystem, my health is a dependent set of states of energy.
I won’t say with certainty that I depend on no one.
What I can say is I depend on everyone to a certain extent.
Why do some have a greater effect on my health than others, I have not figured out.
Perhaps we are more chemically attuned to some?
In times past, I have couched a specific condition of my set of states of energy in terms of romantic love, following the footsteps of the great troubadours of old (even one who might also have been an old troubadour/trobairitz).
One learns that such terms, although entertaining to the masses, do not always apply to a state machine that encompasses more than physical attraction between two humans.
Not to say romantic love does not exist, simply to clarify one comes to grips with greater understanding of one’s place in the universe.
As our circles grow, as our sets of subsets include more members, we grow.
Children chasing each other in a playground, squirrels chasing each other in the forest — what lesson does one learn as a future Moon/Mars resident from watching young mammals at play?
A crow hops from branch to branch, squawking. Other birds join the conversation, chirping. A squirrel hisses.
Farther away, a hawk perches on a highest tree limb.
Another day in the woods, a bright, sunny morning.
A feast for meditative eyes, all of this year contributing to two humans spending about a year in near-Earth orbit, landing on the plains of Kazakhstan in the past 24 hours with another space traveler.
What do the dried seedpods of the ironweed that annually (should I say perennially?) grows at the corner of the sunroom have to do with two moments shared with a friend?
Forthwith, I shall discover.
Correction: not as a single person but as a group identifier, expanding the thought of self into a wider role.
The illusion of self becomes more and more illusory.
I do not exist.
One never has.
One is simply an intersection of states of energy, never the same.
Even time is losing its meaning.
The neighbour’s dog playfully wanders over and, like clockwork, birds/squirrels move to another part of the forest.
These sets of states of energy still incite one to use labels like “dog” and “bird” taught one as a child…interesting…much deprogramming to write before one adjusts to new I/O, eliminating the dependence on old I/O like sight, hearing and touch.
When one knows one’s “body” on Mars is not the same body one had on Earth, one slowly lets go of old ways of thinking.
One was a single body on Earth. On Mars, one is a series of clones with different functions evolved to local conditions, interconnected such that time and place are meaningless.
To get from one state to another took longer and shorter time than expected.
Quantum spookiness is like that.