I trust in, and listen carefully, to such fragments of awareness that may find their way to me from older peoples… alive now… and in records. This trust is based on something simple and primordial. Such peoples had, in general, not yet lost their essential faculties that the machines and ‘conveniences’ that now assail us from every possible avenue of our existence overwhelm.

And so, like wise old children, occasionally encoded something essential in what they left behind for those who would come after them.

Never could they have imagined our situation; one in which the essential senses with which we understood truth or value, wisdom or ignorance, could become so tumultuously disoriented. But they suspected — even with the onset of the written word — that the arts of memory and true relation stood at the precipice. Across which they would not merely be lost… but »counterfeited.

And so I listen, and ache to know their minds. At the same time understanding that their minds are within me, hidden, yet awaiting a signal. An opportunity… to emerge and grant me their vision.

The other night, I saw a new constellation in the sky. Vast and astonishing. It was not something given me by records or by artifice. It announced itself to me. Whole, and pregnant with significance. Perhaps no other human being has seen it, yet I suspect this event was not discovery… but »remembering.