in *hey* i attempt to wake from the ai slumber party

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We learn things. We forget things. We think we have parts of our life figured out and something happens to show us the folly of our plans, our ideas and ideals fall short. We fall short.

Some get back up again. And again.

One of the things I’ve learned about creativity is how motivating and inspiring it is when you begin spinning up a project, song, idea in your mind. Colors become palettes. Songs become soundtracks. Things we read seem to inform our journey. Here’s the thing: you have to keep learning, keep inquiring, keep seeking the deep truth about why you are here. Know what makes you happy. Walk with a gentle swagger that offends no one. A swagger nonetheless.

Ego is swagger. I have a big ego. I write. I dream. I sing. I plan even larger projects, beyond the scope of my own lifetime. I read science fiction because it asks the seminal questions we’re all asking. Why are we here? Are we alone in the galaxy?

First, you know we can’t be the only sentient life in the billions and billions of stars and galaxies within viewing range of our optical and digital telescopes and satellites heading away from us and broadcasting new fantastical scientific data as it speeds away from us. More magical mysteries will be unraveled in the near future. For now, we’ve got you, me, time and space, and this book between us.

I feel the weight of getting the words right. I want to gently nudge you into alignment with my way of thinking. About time. About creativity. About love.

I keep thinking I am discovering some universal truth in my writing, like this: time + space = love.

I mean, to me, that’s profound. To you? Well, who knows? Here’s how it came to be.

My 23-year-old daughter lives in town. She is a busy ER nurse at a busy hospital near the central freeway. She’s hardened over the last year and a half, since graduating from college, and has a new and firmer set of boundaries. She’s not bothered by my complaints about not seeing her for Father’s Day. She had to work. She’s not bothered by time going by without seeing or talking to me. Okay, I get it. I think we’re solid. She does not need to comfort me or keep me in the loop on anything. I am not a critical path element in her current routine. She makes good money. She travels to see music, for birthdays, to party in Vegas. Ho hum. You’d have to pay me to go to Vegas these days. Not my fun.

In time, my daughter and I are aligned. We are both alive at this moment. In space, we are out of alignment. That is her choice. I occasionally ask for a date, a coffee, or an update. Then, I have learned to let go of the outcome. Very zen. Let go of attachments. I am attached to my daughter. I wish I could find more time and space to be together with her. It’s not happening. I keep asking. I let go of “when” and don’t worry about “why.”

Occasionally, she reaches out. We had breakfast two weeks ago. A lovely time. All caught up.

I was trying to describe how it feels to be distant from someone you love. If we’re not every together in space, we are missing a lot of the time we might have. Love then, is the result of spending time together. Perhaps it’s the lifetime effort: to love and be loved.

Perhaps the real lesson is to love yourself. Be love. Give love. Love comes around. Love is abundant in the universe. The real trick is to tune yourself to the red thread of love. Just love.

In the book “time + space = love” I begin to break down the human understanding of time, linear time. From birth, through a lot of middle stuff, to death. That’s our human timeline. And, here’s the big reveal: that’s not all there is. Not by a long shot. Sorry to you Christians, this is not a Jesus and Heaven story. This is a more universal story.

Time is a continuous loop. A donut of space and time. All time is occurring at this moment. As a human, our minds can only contain the linear narrative of our lifetimes. Makes sense. How could we be thinking of universal time from within our limited human minds?

But, if you listen, you can hear the rest of time, even as a human. You can listen. You can tune your ear and your soul. Here’s how that works.

Pick a muse. Someone from your past, who is no longer in their human lifetime, and picture their face smiling at you. Smile back. Now, over the course of the next week or so, just nudge this muse with a question or a thought.

My front yard is a native Texas wildflower explosion. When I water the trees, fill the birdbath, and look for frogs and lizards, I am communing with my mom. I often talk to her. “Oh, look, the Pride of Barbados are really strong this year.” She answers. It’s subtle. It’s not a voice. It’s a feeling. A warmth.

Yes, you could write this off as a neurochemical response to my fond memories and invocation of my mom. I choose to think of it more like a thread that still links us. An invisible connection that spans time and space. The more I pluck the thread, the more I hear the response. The more creative I get with my strumming, the more songs we create together. It’s a spiraling upwards of communications. If I spend time conversing with my mom and her spirit, where is she? Her body is obviously gone. But my mom is as strong in my life as she ever was.

Same thing with my friend who is dying of liver cancer. Where he is going, neither of us knows. What we do know is this, the more time and space we share, the more love we are creating between us.

Love is how you spend your time.

Space is the ability to look someone in the eye and exponentially up the intensity of the connection.

Time is the balance we have left as a human, and what we want to do with each precious minute.

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The Cloud Pilots episode on this chapter is in progress.