Out of reach

Something I'm struggling with on a secular level that I need to put into words and be done with forever - this is the third or fourth blog post I've tried to write tonight. Previous attempts have included laugh-worthy grammar mistakes, something about music, and a third thing that I can't even remember right now. But this post isn't about the secular, it's about the connection that we desire so dearly as humans. A connection shared by two individuals with equal knowledge of something. Or perhaps, lack thereof. For purposes of setting, I'm listening to the same music I listened to when writing my end-of-a-Stonehill-year blog post, and what's eating at me right now is the notion that not one person knew exactly what I was feeling at that point in time. Which is why I write, to try to put across some semblance of emotion that you can glean from a post.

The last time I was in a dark Sem common room playing Values Game was 18 months ago, which is terrifying in its own sense, but life goes on. I remember a lot of questions and answers from that night, but one in particular that is relevant now is what superpower I would have. Breaking from the flying/invisibility majority, I decided that I want to be able to experience pure empathy. And I don't mean a nice understanding of what you just experienced, I mean that I want to know exactly what you were feeling in the moment in which you were feeling it. The only way that I think this can happen is if two people are sharing such a moment together. I'd like to think that I have a wide selection of examples to choose from, but one that comes to mind right now is the click at 9:27 of "The Only Moment We Were Alone." There's a particular relevance of those two drum sticks colliding, that you probably don't know about. (If you do, thanks for reading.) There's a buildup right before the part with the click that kind of overcame me one day when I was driving, possibly on the highway. I'm not sure anymore, but it was a moment that felt incredibly real to me, one that I wish I could properly explain with words. But the thing is that I can't, and unless you were in that car with me, you're not going to know the tension and release that came through that part of the song (which I've switched over to listening to).

I want to know what you feel when you're staring over an expansive sea of beauty as the sun beats down on your neck. I want my heart to beat as far out of my chest as yours as you stand watching a ball suspended in midair, waiting to fall through a hoop. I want to see as far down to the ground as you do, walking on a quarter-inch of rope, tens of thousands of feet in the air. And I want to leave you with the thought of what I'm feeling, what you're feeling, and what you wonder others to be feeling. The human connection is strong, but we will never be able to perfectly capture multiple experiences as one. Perhaps that is the beauty of it all. For now, it remains just out of reach.

Can you feel what they do?