Interrupted

At the risk of implying prescience, displayed in my last posting, "Heat" on July 6th, I share that I was a heat refugee for 36 hours after posting that blog entry. Yes, I had my own small energy Armageddon here outside my building, where an electric transformer on a pole near my window exploded on Tuesday evening. Yes, exploded, with Hollywood-style pyrotechnics, also suited to July 4th fireworks.

The temperature here in Boston had reached a record-breaking 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The transformer exploded, and the wires attached to it caught fire. No power for many units here in this densely populated neighborhood. No air conditioning. No fans. No refrigerators. No lights.

My upper floor apartment in an antique building heated up instantly when the air conditioner went out. It was unbearable within an hour. Luckily, I had a nearby refuge. The next two days were enjoyable where I was staying. The up side of the disaster is a better and more regular electric current in my building. Apparently, that old transformer was surging anyway. I had noticed irregular current my PC's voltage meter after moving here.

The down side, of course, was dealing with a major utility company. I reported the outage to an electronic voice, who haltingly promised to call me with updates which never came. There was no on line method for reporting the outage or following the progress of repair. They do have on line billing, of course.

I did find that I am a blogger of ritual. Without my shower, yoga and green tea in my own digs, I did not routinely post here for the two days I was away from my apartment. I'll have to work on that. Nothing will make a good thing go stale like ritual. Just ask any lapsed Catholic.

Taxes

It has been clearly demonstrated that a substantial state and national fuel taxes could turn our economy around and basically save the planet by waking gas-dependent Americans up in the same way that tobacco taxes weaned the majority of U.S. citizens off smoking. The actual impact on individuals would be negligible. Drivers would be able to compensate by prioritizing their use of vehicles. Those with incomes large enough to travel could afford the increases. Income taxes could be stabilized and perhaps reduced eventually.

There is no free ride back to a viable planet. Supporting politicians who rail against these measures is self-defeating. Those who refuse to pay their share now will pay more dearly later.

2010

As this ancient globe rotates its northern hemisphere toward the sun for another segment of its annual orbit, my head spins with concepts of time, aging and unfinished business in my own life. Hurtling through space sounds like fun. But, I realize I am the size of a bacterium on my vehicle. So the thrill must be sought by gazing at the sky with determined attention.

I have felt the earth move under me. It is an unforgettable experience. You'll know it when it happens. My most memorable experience of the ride through this tiny part of The Universe occurred around 2 AM on a January morning. I stood atop a snow-covered dune at Herring Cove, outside Provincetown at the tip of Cape Cod. Above, a clear sky allowed an unobstructed view of The Universe beyond. Twinkling colors amid unfathomable, cold darkness. Breathtaking.

In that moment of space travel, I experienced my oneness with the essence of all that shining energy out there. I experienced the weightlessness of my own energy field, the electric pulses which transmit feeling and thought beyond the confines of cellular walls. The energy of imagination. The flickering comprehension of timelessness.

Since then, I have carried the memory of that experience, locked in consciousness, like spice in a jar. I sprinkle it, when needed, upon my gravity-weighted life. It adds zest, perspective and refreshment. And, as I embark upon my 61st year on this planet, I hope to continue to look up from time to time, so I can enjoy the ride.