(The Mite and The Rite, from The Barking Wall, 2010)
I remember the time my mother planned this trip out to the Array in southern New Mexico, we even stopped by Carlsbad cavern and Roswell. To a little kid who was into aliens and the wonders of the world, I was blown away, absolutely positively. I wonder why I looked up to that sky, why I thought I saw a star move ever so slowly only to disappear, and why I was so fascinated at things that I could never touch, not even the speleothems of the cavern. I could just look on, seeing them in their wonder, dripping with shine, frozen in darkness. I think I could talk forever and ever about being kid in the desert, how I saw things that even amaze an adult's fancy. There's a feeling, an atmosphere that cannot be captured, but only recreated. It transcends the land, the people, and their traditions, it exist in the earth, above our feet, in the air, and in our words, but where it doesn't exist is in text, in a single photograph telling you this is it, or from any scientist telling you how it is. In the milk of dreams it exist before us, and disappears before our eyes, I can't believe it, and yet I do.
I miss those days, I think one day I'll go back there, only to realize it is all gone, I'm old now, too old to see with my boyish eyes again, too old to believe in such things against these other truths. I can still imagine, I can still dream, and I can still think that I'm somewhere amongst the stars, humming The Age of Aquarius only to break into cry:
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