The Magic In the Silence Between The Stars

The last time that I lost myself was in the summer of 2004--the year after my sophomore year in college. The semester before that had been the hardest semester that I had ever experienced before in my life. I was taking 12 (count 'em, 12) classes and going slightly crazy with all of them (even so, I still managed to pull off a 3.95 gpa). My short term memory has never been the same since; same goes for my sense of myself.

It was in the silence that I found myself. I practically stopped talking for the entire summer afterwards. I limited myself to just talking about things that were absolutely necessary (ie - family functions). But in terms of me actually talking, I did very little. I was content instead to just sit and look around at the world that had suddenly unfolded itself around me.

You see, from January through May of the year 2004, I almost killed myself several times. The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fact that I couldn't think of a good way to do it. So that summer, I spent my time in silence rediscovering the world and the light and the air. I had been previously living in a world so dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face; but that summer was different. It was so bright that I practically had to blink to look it straight on.

I spent most of the time telling myself that I loved myself and why. I focused on the things that were, like facts that were true no matter who looked at them. I agreed with myself that the sun was indeed hot and that I indeed did like to read. I needed things to believe in, because everything else around me had taken on a sort of topsy turvy stance. Thus, that summer I spent in a state of being. I was.

I recently read the book The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. It spoke to me, like that summer of 2004 spoke to me. In particular, it put into words an experience that I had previously tried to speak of, but unsuccessfully.

It is about a man who goes on a journey across the country on a bike (or two) in an effort to find his past and himself. At the beginning of chapter 63, it says this:

"For fifteen minutes I followed the beat of my heart on its route to my feet."

I do that. But the last time I tried to explain it to someone, I ended up sounding crazy. I don't know, maybe I am crazy. I can't tell anymore.

Isn't that silly? I can't tell anymore if I'm crazy. But I think that if I were crazy, then I wouldn't care so much; it wouldn't bother me so much. I just don't know anymore. I thought I did. I guess that's what I get for assuming that I understood the path that my life was taking.