Enrique’s theory

I have a very cool writer friend, Enrique, who has the most brilliant theory of life. I feel so honored that he’s given me permission to post it.

Thank you, E!

As best as I can encapsulate the idea with my puny, nonscientifically-or-theologically trained mind, it works something like this: All humans – and possibly/probably all living things – are physically and intellectually/mentally/consciously connected by an invisible “life force” (probably electromagnetic in nature) that gives us a common touchpoints of psychological experience, and which allows us to “feel” the feelings of others and sense changes in the life force of others in ways that in past times have been mistakenly been described – in our pathetic human efforts to describe the indescribable – as “religion,” as “ESP,” as “intuition” and other manifestations of metaphysical weirdness.
 
I came up with this theory as a college sophomore, sitting in my bedroom on a Saturday afternoon listening to The Who on my stereo. As my mind wandered here to there, I suddenly felt a sharp, gripping pain in my chest. It lingered for about a half hour, and was intense enough to cause some worry for my immediate survival, but not enough to distract me from The Who. About a half hour later, the phone rang – it was the floor nurse at a major hospital in Phoenix, Ariz., where my father lived, telling me that he had just had a major heart attack and was in dire condition. We were told to fly ASAP to Phoenix, and my pains were soon forgotten.
 
Later, the experience caused me to wonder – was it mere coincidence that I felt chest pains stronger than I have ever experienced at the exact moment my dad was having a myocardial infarction? What could explain it? At the time, I was studying some science in school and on my own, and was familiar with a couple of scientific laws that could help explain such a phenomenon, and also show how physics might underlie a lot of the spiritual and metaphysical concepts we have developed over centuries as humans.
 
The first scientific law that seemed to be relatable to this “sympathetic” pain in my chest was the law of gravity. Here we have a force (not really a force, but stick with me) that literally is smeared everywhere in the universe, which touches everything in the universe, and which (more importantly) allows everything in the universe to instantly push or pull on everything else in the universe. It’s a scientific fact: Everything with mass has a gravitational pull that is felt by everything else with mass. When the moon passes over the ocean, its gravitational pull lifts the water toward it by a few inches – we call these tides. When you hop a bit into the air, your gravitational pull is literally pulling the ENTIRE PLANET EARTH toward you just a little teeny bit. Your gravity is felt by everything, everywhere – even the farthest star in the universe “knows you’re there.”
 
It’s like we are walking in a matrix – a force field – a sticky plasma — of gravity that embraces everything, senses everything, allows everything to impact everything. What if similar forces are in effect for life and living creatures, and we just haven’t “discovered” them yet?
 
It just seemed to make the most sense from a scientific basis, and explain so many things that we have found to be inexplicable. Since nature has provided a force that can be pervasive enough to literally connect everything in the universe to everything else, it didn’t seem outlandish to me that some other related force could serve to connect living things. When my dad had his heart attack, that pain caused “ripples” in his own life energy, and because life energy is connected (in my theory), I felt those ripples as they spread through the “life force field” like a wave, a wave that was most directly connected to me because my life force was a product of his life force.
 
The second scientific concept that seems plausibly wrapped into this whole “life force” phenomenon is energy. Weird thing about energy is that it cannot be created, or destroyed. The energy you feel in the morning, the energy you “run out of” during the day, had to first come from somewhere else, and it will go somewhere else after you throw your exhausted body into bed. Energy inhabits different forms, rides a sequential series of hosts, going from the sun to the sea to a plant to our bellies to our laughter to our dreams and then back out into the world, to be ceaselessly reused, remaining forever alive. So it seemed clear to me that the since life is essentially harnessed energy, the energy that is/was our “life” will never go away, and will simply move on to other forms. We take our last breath, and the energy of our soul simply re-enters the “life force field,” joining all the passed-away others who have added their energy to this overall force field (“Hi, Dad!”), and becoming a jumble of unseen once-living energy, full of former lives – something that that religion has come to call “Heaven.” When a new life is created, some of the energy from this field – possibly including some of the energy that used to be you – pops out of the unseen force field and again inhabits some body – a physical occurrence that humans have come to call “reincarnation.”
 
And, when many millions of humans sense (as I did) this seemingly spiritual connectedness, this churning matrix of birth and death and everlasting life, they have over the centuries come up with words like “God” and constructs like religion to explain it all. Look at how many stories in religion echo one another – not because of a shared God, or even God-driven teachings, but because of a shared sense of how life energy connects us all. We are God, all of us.
 
The life force/sustained energy theory can (if you squint a little) also be useful in explaining such mysteries as séances (since energy cannot be destroyed, my Dad is “still out there” somewhere), and could also be what’s at work when we “get a feeling that something’s wrong” with a loved one, or “believe this house is haunted,” or “feel like Mom is still with me” though she died last year, the nature of “the soul,” etc. etc. I suspect the force is especially strong between related people, but my thinking is hazy on why this would be – possible because your energy flowed out of the same original sources as their energy (same ancestors), their “wavelengths” are similar or something.
 
God, I’m crazy.
No way, dude.
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My sunshine

To my little A,

You are the light of my life! I saw a sign the other day that reminded me so much of you. It said, “There are very few who possess something of that spirit that will brighten whatever they touch.”

That’s you!

I love you so much. Thank you, universe, for letting me be your mom (and yours too, big A!).

Thanks, Mr. D

I probably don’t say it enough, but you are the best thing that ever happened to me.

You’re an incredible father, husband, lover, friend, life coach, writer, IT business analyst, therapist (my own personal!), comedian, reciter of esoteric quotes (“Who’s the Boss is not a food!”), and so much more.

You make me and our babies the luckiest girls in the world. Thank you for being you.

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To my artist

Big A, my love, you’re such a beautiful artist. Tonight I asked about your favorite kind of art form—painting, coloring, etc., and you said writing.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I do some of that.”

We have so many great artists in our family. Seema, Sunil, Yamboo. Ada knows languages; Nani is a brilliant chef. I write. Pretty well, I’m told. Daddy will never agree, but he actually blows me out of the water. The thing about writing is even when you feel you’re good, you always know you could be better. Or maybe that’s just the way you feel about any job you love. And I love being a writer! (I hope you and Little A will both keep a handwritten journal. It’s such a beautiful way to preserve your memories.)

But anyway… You were explaining accents to me tonight. What does that mean, I asked. You hummed in the same steady note and then squeaked. That, you said, was the accent. It was brilliant and funny and loud in the awesome way you are. Then you explained what it means in art—something about big lines and then small ones? (You showed me as you brushed strokes on the page, and I must admit, I didn’t really get it.) But you did. And you draw SO beautifully. I don’t think I tell you that enough. I absolutely love your rendition of George Washington and Honest Abe. I love that you’re fascinated by history and that you think critically about the subject.

Tonight, in bed, you said you loved India. I assumed that’s because it’s the only foreign country you’ve visited, but no, you said. You told me how everyone used to want to go to India because it was the land of gold and jewels. And how everyone there has beautiful dark skin. But you don’t like the pollution and litter.

I said the water is also very dirty, so dirty that people who drink it can get terribly sick. (I thought of Flint.) I said things aren’t very good for girls there either. (We talked about how Nani wanted to come to America, how she wanted a better life for me, how this is a place where women like her can become successful.)

“What’s success?” you asked. And then you answered your own question before I could. “Happiness?”

“Yes, my love. That is exactly what it is.”

“Then you’re very successful, mommy.”

Indeed I am. All thanks to you, your sister, and your daddy.