Hey, when you're as churchless and unreligious as I am, you take your revelations in any form they might appear.
Today I was driving around, aimlessly switching channels on satellite radio, trying to decide whether listening to news stations or the music of Chill was better for my non-soul.
CNN was still heavy into its obsessive coverage of the missing Malaysia Airlines plane. For a while I tuned into a discussion of the effort to locate the plane's black box device by picking up its battery-powered "pings."
An expert said something along the lines of, "The batteries should last 30 to 45 days. Before they go dead, though, the power of the batteries will begin to fade, making it more difficult to locate the plane."
At that moment something weirdly clicked in my brain. Maybe I had a mini-satori. A Zennish micro taste of enlightenment.
I felt like I was those black box batteries. Or they were me.
I'm running down also. We all are. Everything alive is on a steady downward trajectory that leads to a touchdown on the runway of death. Crash-landing might be a better analogy.
For a few seconds I was at peace. With myself. With the world. WIth life. With death. It was like a weight had lifted off of my psyche. The weight of feeling that I was a separate conscious free-willing entity.
I realized that the batteries powering the black box are simply running down. Deep in the ocean they aren't going through a Woody Allen neurotic anxiety attack. "Oh, no, we're going to die!"
One instant they will be emitting their pings. The next instant they won't be.
No one will mourn the batteries. They did what they were supposed to do for as long as they could. Then they became something else: dead batteries.
If this little tale of mine leaves you with a what the f__k ? feeling, I totally understand. As the saying goes, you had to be there. In my mind. As my mind.
It was just a pleasant insight into... something or other.