Brings to mind the theory of relatively which, in the crudest of terms, tells us that when life is boring or frustrating, it takes forever to die.

You’ll never hear an ex-con reminisce upon his release, “It seems like just yesterday that I was turning in my cigarettes and shoelaces.” In fact, you’ll likely see death in his eyes. Similarly, you may have noticed that many presidents seem to age decades in their four to eight stressful years in office. Bill Clinton, for example, looked twenty years older in 2000 than he did eight years earlier, before NAFTA breathed down his neck and Monica blew on his crotch. Even Dubyah hasn’t been aging so well, even though all he has to do to recharge is plug himself back into the wall. The good days are the ones that race past us, despite our wishes that they’d last forever.

I don’t want to beat to hell out of this Moth Thing, because he seems to be doing a good job of that on his own. Thing is, even with his limited mental abilities, the poor moth must feel like he’s in quite a rut that, even while it’s abbreviating his already limited lifespan, must seem like an eternal sentence.

But if he were to fly a couple of feet to his left, he’d be around the corner, and could escape outside the next time I went to the balcony for a cigarette.

Most of us have limited appreciation for empty space, even though without it, nothing would exist. In Fritjof Capra’s The Tao of Physics, it is explained (again, these are the crudest of terms, and I may be misremembering) that empty space is what draws everything together. Our bodies, made of flesh, made of cells, made of molecules, are comprised of atoms which do not, in fact fuse together in the too, too solid matter melodramatically lamented by Hamlet. In reality, the energy of molecules is created by the frequency with which atoms bounce off of one another. They don’t stick together, as we think they do. It is empty space that makes possible the illusion of solidity.

As you read this, the body that you call yours, which appears to be as still as a birdbath on a calm day, is actually made up of a jittery bunch of molecular critters with a series of common understandings: We are a hand … we are a wrist … we are an arm bone connected to the shoulder bone connected to the collarbone … we are your side, your torso, your legs … we are your body.

That team of critters lead to the critters agreed to be your clothing, then to those agreed to be your chair, then to those agreed to be the floor, and so on. The world is not comprised of the series of separate, squishy, holdables that we think it is. It’s all a big stew of vibrating atoms. If you’ll allow a hippy simplification, everything is one.

Taking this a bit further, there are physicists who argue that the physical world is only perceived as it is because we are trained to think of it as being made up of impenetrable solids. Going back to the moth: if he could unlearn himself of the concept that the glass door is solid, he could mesh his atoms through the pane and be free. Likewise, you and I could both be superheroes, training our carbon-based bodies to pass through the aluminum of oncoming cars. I don’t know if I buy that, but, cool.

Generally, we don’t trust empty space. We separate it into weights and measures, seconds and miles. This is necessary, by and large. It seems to simplify things.

It’s my appreciation for empty space that keeps me from seeing my life on a frame-by-frame basis. It might seem complicated to view life as a gigantic, swirling globe with an overreaching story arc, instead of a linear plotline, but it’s just a different strategy.

Think of it this way: say you view life one panel at a time. It’s like every subplot of your ongoing story is a jigsaw puzzle. Once in a while, a piece will enter, which is so beautiful on its own, and would fit so perfectly, if only the parameters of your puzzle were different, if only the existing boundaries that create the picture were differently shaped or further apart. But, they aren’t, and they can’t be. Things rarely work out exactly the way we think they should.

You can admire that wayward piece as much as you want, and hammer at it as long as you can stand, but it won’t fit. You’ll only exhaust yourself while shattering the existing landscape. Just take things for what they are, and let them fit in to your story as that story expands. It’s not always easy, but you don’t have to let go and forget, and it’s better than being a moth trying to forge through Plexiglas.

Without emptiness, there would be no wonder, hope, or potential. Sleep provides the empty brainspace, which makes room for dreams. Empty space is often blamed for keeping us apart, but in reality, even without all the quantum bullshit, it’s the only thing that connects us. We’re all swimming through it, even as we seem to be separated by walls.

Forced as it may seem, I derive comfort from this tender and convoluted philosophy when I’m far from everything I’ve called “home,” or when I dare to feel deprived because things aren’t working out the way I swear to GOD that they should, when it would be so easy if only one aspect of my life were a tiny bit different. Faith in emptiness might sound bleak, but it makes me feel like absolutely nothing in the most powerful way. It’s like being gutted by lightening.

Maybe I’m fooling myself, but it’s nice to think that The Answer can reside in something as simple as a vacant jar. Put a lid on it, shake it up, and open it whenever you want to hear the history of the universe.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Pack of Ne'er-Do-Wells - 09.17.05

The Forks Have Spoken - 09.10.05

This meme's for the balcony, and the next meme's for the floor ... - 09.08.05

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

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