Post by Adam on Oct 10, 2008 8:03:40 GMT -1
I once knew a story about a boy called Hugh, who knew all sorts of things about how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange. Hugh knew what it took to make a piece of carbon and a wire play radio music, to make a telephone from tin cans and a piece of string. Hugh knew how two pins touching the skin close together felt like one. But Hugh did not know where the sky ended and space began.
Hugh grew up, as we all do. He learned how a girl's smile could melt his insides all the way from his throat down to his groin and how confusing that could be. He learned how songs that he heard when he broke up could make him feel as bad as he did when he broke up. He discovered communication in the widening of the eyes. And, with each passing year, his yearning to discover where the sky ends and space begins grew stronger and stronger.
Hugh became a man. He observed how he and his wife became we, rather than you and I. And that we became I and I became we and distinction blurred. He observed the emergence of consciousness as his daughter grew. He observed his daughter emerge into a beautiful being who knew all sorts of things about how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange. Who knew what it took to make a piece of carbon and a wire play radio music, to make a telephone from tin cans and a piece of string. Who knew how two pins touching the skin close together felt like one.
But Hugh did not know where the sky ends and space begins.
Hugh grew older.
Hugh discovered meaning and communication in every sound, in every sight, in every sensation. He discovered how every year his awareness of his experience of being expanded, and he discovered how good that felt and how little it mattered, that his awareness of his experience of being was what it was, is what it is and will be what it will be. Hugh grew older with his children, with his grandchildren. He lived to see his great grandchildren emerge into consciousness, to see his great grandchildren emerge into beautiful beings who knew all sorts of things about how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange.
And still he did not know where the sky ends and space begins.
Then he died.
In bed, surrounded by his children, his grandchildren and his great grandchildren… all of whom he had taught how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange. Who he had taught what it took to make a piece of carbon and a wire play radio music, to make a telephone from tin cans and a piece of string. Who he had taught how two pins touching the skin close together felt like one.
And as the tears receded, he noticed how sight, sound and sensation receded too. And there came a point, as he breathed out once, that with his last breath he smiled and said silently to himself, "Ahh, so that is where the sky ends and space begins".
Hugh grew up, as we all do. He learned how a girl's smile could melt his insides all the way from his throat down to his groin and how confusing that could be. He learned how songs that he heard when he broke up could make him feel as bad as he did when he broke up. He discovered communication in the widening of the eyes. And, with each passing year, his yearning to discover where the sky ends and space begins grew stronger and stronger.
Hugh became a man. He observed how he and his wife became we, rather than you and I. And that we became I and I became we and distinction blurred. He observed the emergence of consciousness as his daughter grew. He observed his daughter emerge into a beautiful being who knew all sorts of things about how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange. Who knew what it took to make a piece of carbon and a wire play radio music, to make a telephone from tin cans and a piece of string. Who knew how two pins touching the skin close together felt like one.
But Hugh did not know where the sky ends and space begins.
Hugh grew older.
Hugh discovered meaning and communication in every sound, in every sight, in every sensation. He discovered how every year his awareness of his experience of being expanded, and he discovered how good that felt and how little it mattered, that his awareness of his experience of being was what it was, is what it is and will be what it will be. Hugh grew older with his children, with his grandchildren. He lived to see his great grandchildren emerge into consciousness, to see his great grandchildren emerge into beautiful beings who knew all sorts of things about how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange.
And still he did not know where the sky ends and space begins.
Then he died.
In bed, surrounded by his children, his grandchildren and his great grandchildren… all of whom he had taught how light bends in air, why the sky is blue, how mixing red and yellow makes orange. Who he had taught what it took to make a piece of carbon and a wire play radio music, to make a telephone from tin cans and a piece of string. Who he had taught how two pins touching the skin close together felt like one.
And as the tears receded, he noticed how sight, sound and sensation receded too. And there came a point, as he breathed out once, that with his last breath he smiled and said silently to himself, "Ahh, so that is where the sky ends and space begins".
thanks... does it to me too and I wrote it (I say that, it was more like it was ripped out of me in one 15 minute sitting... which accounts for it's possibly crude construction... I've never been able to make any changes to it that don't destroy it's authenticity for me so it is as it is)
