Energy of the Center

February 27, 2017: Center

A perimeter makes a center. Jehan and Jane scanned the empty space as they gently walked in. The dome ceiling was so high that at least one giraffe standing on top another could fit with some room to spare. The walls were all glass of the modern kind, where they could see the beautiful, lush green forest outside from within, but only a reflection of the exotic bushels and trees could be seen from the outside looking in. The peculiar abode stood discretely in the center of the naturally calm wilderness which extended for a few kilometers in every direction, just large enough to shelter an ecosystem of bugs and beetles, plants and timber, birds and bees, even small monkeys and chimps. Surrounding the habitat in all directions was the hustle and bustle of civilization – steam engines powering railroads, donkeys pulling carts, women effortlessly balancing buckets of water on top of their heads, men carrying axes and children carrying books. The ringing buzz of the market and the singing chatter of leisure bounce from the surrounding high mountains and crash back onto the land. The wild trees of the wilderness within absorb the noise like sunlight. Within the glass walls of the empty abode, Jehan and Jane look at each other and recognize the bewilderment in each others eyes. A strange energy has occupied them both, an energy of a thousand sounds and a million sights that beamed onto them from the center of the abode’s domed ceiling. They looked out from within, from the center of all worlds, and from the center of themselves.





A Slurring City

February 23, 2017: Slur

He slurred his words into one big handful of confusion. To the composed bystander, it did not appear that the 6-foot dapper gentlemen with a clean shave and neatly combed hair had a clue what he was rambling about. His eyes revealed what lay underneath a confident shell. He was smiling while slurring, but his eyes were as they would have been had his lips been curved in the other direction, toward the messy sidewalk below his shiny black shoes. His back was upright and chest puffed out so that his baritone voice beamed through the cold air and onto every passerby’s muffled ears. Yet, our friendly composed bystander, the one who gathered that the towering gentlemen was in all likelihood slurring a string of senseless words into a series of sounds, was the only one to pause in her tracks. She turned towards the man, who at this point was waving his finger in admonishment of no one, or thing, in particular, and gave him an audience. As the man turned in the direction of our steadfast friend, he began to wave his finger wildly and continued to slur inexplicably. It was a sight to see, I must confess. I was seated on a park bench just 25 meters away, which I often do on days that I can tolerate, observing the frantic pace of the city avenues. The maddening world buzzed about without method or purpose. Yet just before my eyes, only 25 meters away, an obscure woman tried to make sense of the madness.