Excerpt from my upcoming hybrid memoir

Greetings, friends. It’s been a minute since I’ve been on here sharing anything new… February, to be exact, when I posted my last essay Take Me To Church. A move and a new job assignment have kept me away from my desk quite a lot these past few months. But I’ve been writing when I can, dividing that time between the third installment of the Miranda Rights series and a new project—a hybrid memoir that began as an anthology of essays and has grown from there. Here’s an excerpt from the latter, the opening paragraphs of “Part One: Letters to the Universe”…

The Universe. It’s such a trite and new-agey catch-all, isn’t it? Something David Mitchell’s Dwight Silverwind might allude to with a sublime smile as he sinks into the lotus position and contemplates the mystical beyond. What does it even mean, the Universe? Vast, infinite space? The cosmos? Every spinning planet, every cratered moon, every lonely star? That’s part of it, I think.

The chain gang etymologist in me wants to dissect the word, to separate prefix from root. Uni-verse. Uni meaning “one,” and verse meaning “song.” One song. One continuous freestyle of a song echoing down through the centuries, pulsing in the present, and unspooling out over the horizon into the distant future. A collaboration in which every living organism that ever was and will ever be is a featured artist. I dig this interpretation. But is it true? Maybe. But only in the abstract.

Is it merely another way to approach the idea of a divine architect? Like in Giants when Pharaoh wondered why Izzy was always popping off about “the Universe” when it was obvious that he really meant God. This rubs closer against the truth. Still, to reduce the full weight of the concept into some generic euphemism for the Creator is to remain wide of the mark.

It could be that the Universe will always mean different things to different people. We may just have to leave it there. But before my ADHD kicks in and sends me bounding off in the direction of another shiny thought, I want to state, for the record, my understanding of the word. Especially since it’s emblazoned across the cover of this book.

When I say Universe, I’m talking all of the above. From the great spiral galaxies to our ancient ancestors to every living being currently inhabiting this blue-green rock we call Earth. Every charged particle, every blade of grass, every pulsation of light and vibration of sound. And yes, the divine intelligence and order behind it all. This is what I mean by “the Universe.”

But I don’t worship it like a god. Nor do I fear it. I just trust it. And I believe there is magic in our connection to it.

When there is a burning desire within us, and this desire is colored with emotion and concentrated into powerful thought waves that are then bounced off a satellite in some distant outpost of the same Universe, they eventually boomerang back to us, manifesting in our lives, pointing the way forward, and revealing the obstacles that run counter to the fulfillment of this profound need, whatever it may be, until the mission is successful.

But it’s not all wanting and wishing and waiting. There are other key ingredients as well; blue collar principles like discipline and sacrifice immediately come to mind. And faith. Faith is mandatory. “Live as if the Universe is rigged in your favor,” Rumi whispers across the oceans of time. I hear and obey.