We are positive, negative, complementary
The passion with which he expressed his conviction was stunning, despite his atheism, despite his cynicism and jaded mentality. His words were not harsh or bitter, but filled with wonder. Our conversation had started out with every day pleasantries and polite banter but strayed quickly into sex and religion and his daughters gleaming smile.
It was two in the morning. His shift was well underway and the regulars had made their requisite beer runs. This was the lull between hardened alcoholics and early morning commuters in which we found time to stand face to face and argue for no one to see.
He stood behind his counter, gaurded yet commanding, his voice stuttering and skipping into falsetto as he ascended from passion to hysteria. While he explained the complexities of molecules dancing around each other, of infinite space stretching forever into each solid mass, I felt myself being lifted by his words. No amount of searching for god has ever brought me as close to understanding as this two minute conversation.
As I sit here, now, I wish I could describe the feeling I had when he explained his reasoning to me. I have never been one to give myself to faith but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to grasp that impossibly bright light in my hand and stare into its infinity. I stood still, gaping at his words, my heart a black hole of disbelief and longing.
I wish I could break down his explanation as eloquently as he uttered it in the silent store, when his hands sliced the air in dramatic animation. The charades were nearly as stimulating as his words. My shocked eyes could not be drawn from him. The word astounded does not compare to the quasi enlightenment I felt under those glowing flourescent lights.
We are all a blend of the tiniest parts of molecules running endlessly parallel to each other separated infinitely by distance. Even the most solid matter, the counter he leaned next to, the cell phone I clutched in my hand, the floor we both stood on, is composed of nothing more than rigid distance. Our perception tells us we see fake laminate and paint, hard and smoothe to the touch with no gaps between. As he explained it, even the molecules that compose those solid surfaces are not solid themselves. There is, there will always be, space between the parts that compose the most unmoveable of objects.
There will always be negative space where nothing exists, even in the objects our minds tell us are definite. We are all composed of distance and nothingness that stretches on between atoms and makes a blend of all matter solid or liquid or gaseous. We are all merely pluses and minuses in the grid of space. As he said these words, I did not feel empty. I felt the same awe I heard in his voice.
I left the store contemplative and emotional.
This was the weekend I met you.
I think often about that distance, knowing that every object I come into contact with is no different from me, knowing that as I lay my head on my pillow, the only thing that differentiates it from me are the atoms and the negative space. I want to write about the amazement I felt, however brief it was, and how I glimpsed just a bit of infinity in that comprehension.
I think about how when my hand holds yours and our fingers intertwine, it is a mass of positives and negatives. My hand is indecipherable from your hand. If I lay my cheek next to yours, the only thing that separates us is our collective mind seeing what it will.
I said I have never been given to faith, and the same is true for fate. Our lives are not meant to happen, but the patterns that exist are undeniable.
We are complementary. We are positive and negative, both infinite space and nothingness. We are composed of distance, you and I, and each molecule pushes and pulls against those around it to close or open the gaps. When our entire beings are devoted to fighting infinite space, it is amazing that the connection between two fragile beings can survive physical and emotional distance.
But when I'm next to you with the soft hairs on my neck standing on end, I know it is because of the blending of the universe and that the atoms between us are perfectly charged. My hand and your face and the pillows we sleep on are one and the same, and this makes the endless distance bearable.
It was two in the morning. His shift was well underway and the regulars had made their requisite beer runs. This was the lull between hardened alcoholics and early morning commuters in which we found time to stand face to face and argue for no one to see.
He stood behind his counter, gaurded yet commanding, his voice stuttering and skipping into falsetto as he ascended from passion to hysteria. While he explained the complexities of molecules dancing around each other, of infinite space stretching forever into each solid mass, I felt myself being lifted by his words. No amount of searching for god has ever brought me as close to understanding as this two minute conversation.
As I sit here, now, I wish I could describe the feeling I had when he explained his reasoning to me. I have never been one to give myself to faith but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to grasp that impossibly bright light in my hand and stare into its infinity. I stood still, gaping at his words, my heart a black hole of disbelief and longing.
I wish I could break down his explanation as eloquently as he uttered it in the silent store, when his hands sliced the air in dramatic animation. The charades were nearly as stimulating as his words. My shocked eyes could not be drawn from him. The word astounded does not compare to the quasi enlightenment I felt under those glowing flourescent lights.
We are all a blend of the tiniest parts of molecules running endlessly parallel to each other separated infinitely by distance. Even the most solid matter, the counter he leaned next to, the cell phone I clutched in my hand, the floor we both stood on, is composed of nothing more than rigid distance. Our perception tells us we see fake laminate and paint, hard and smoothe to the touch with no gaps between. As he explained it, even the molecules that compose those solid surfaces are not solid themselves. There is, there will always be, space between the parts that compose the most unmoveable of objects.
There will always be negative space where nothing exists, even in the objects our minds tell us are definite. We are all composed of distance and nothingness that stretches on between atoms and makes a blend of all matter solid or liquid or gaseous. We are all merely pluses and minuses in the grid of space. As he said these words, I did not feel empty. I felt the same awe I heard in his voice.
I left the store contemplative and emotional.
This was the weekend I met you.
I think often about that distance, knowing that every object I come into contact with is no different from me, knowing that as I lay my head on my pillow, the only thing that differentiates it from me are the atoms and the negative space. I want to write about the amazement I felt, however brief it was, and how I glimpsed just a bit of infinity in that comprehension.
I think about how when my hand holds yours and our fingers intertwine, it is a mass of positives and negatives. My hand is indecipherable from your hand. If I lay my cheek next to yours, the only thing that separates us is our collective mind seeing what it will.
I said I have never been given to faith, and the same is true for fate. Our lives are not meant to happen, but the patterns that exist are undeniable.
We are complementary. We are positive and negative, both infinite space and nothingness. We are composed of distance, you and I, and each molecule pushes and pulls against those around it to close or open the gaps. When our entire beings are devoted to fighting infinite space, it is amazing that the connection between two fragile beings can survive physical and emotional distance.
But when I'm next to you with the soft hairs on my neck standing on end, I know it is because of the blending of the universe and that the atoms between us are perfectly charged. My hand and your face and the pillows we sleep on are one and the same, and this makes the endless distance bearable.