Because time is constant

I haven't posted in a long while because I found that every time I felt like I remembered what happened next in my life, I'd always remember something else that came before it. I like ordrer in my writing, and so it bothered me greatly to consider putting something new down, out of chronological order.

The more I thought about that, the more I considered time itself. I recently drove my good friend, Rod, crazy talking about the idea of time, raising the idea of all time being a single fixed point in the universe.  Everything that has ever happened anywhere, any time in history all happening now, right now. He seemed to be alright with that thought, but when I proposed the idea that everything that ever would happen, also resides in this same infinite point of time, he neighed. The suggestion that all future possibilities were already there, or here as it were, threw him off. He felt that the future is unwritten, so how could it all exist at once? 

I believe that all events, everything, is happening right now, this very moment. We exist in this form, either by intelligent design, as we are human, or to simply enable us to perceive events from our human linear  perspective, or our minds are simply too primitive to grasp the concept of anything other than linear time. I feel strongly that people are occasionally able to tap into this non-linear time perspective. We see ghosts, for example. We observe doppelgängers. Some of us, such as myself have had near death experiences where we are separate from out physical bodies, and see our whole lives flash by in an instant. Why? That's the question, isn't it? Why are we sometimes given these perspectives? I feel like under certain conditions, our minds dip into this point in time, like a stray electric current headed towards Earth ground. Suddenly we have the ability to see more. Out of body experiences, ghosts, maybe even dreams can be explained by this time/mind phenomena. The question remains, "Why?" How is it all connected? How can this information be meaningful? What changes in our brain chemistry reveal this view?

Assuming that these ideas have some merit, wouldn't articulating time as a single point, an infinite event, be the first step in realizing time travel? If we can understand and quantify that principal, what is keeping us from simply moving through those currents in time? 

Ghosts, apparitions, psychic residue, telekinesis, prophesy, even so called UFO's might be explained if time is an infinite, singular event. We simply cannot see it that way. All we can see is what is before us at any given moment, that is, usually.

So, understanding this, there's no reason for me to worry about the order of these memories I set down here. If these scraps of my mind are ever put onto paper, I can put them back into chronological order then. But feeling like they are all here at once, which they evidently are, it will nevertheless not make much difference. 

For now, I'll write in my memories as they come. 

This tangent is now at end.

Dan

There's Magic in People

   I can't remember exactly how the year went, second grade.  I think that my focus had already become scattered. Those things which alienate us from each other, personal oddities, a crimp in self-awareness, and even isolation outside of school hours made it hard for me to hold on to friendships. There are a lot of people I met when I was little, but some of them I miss more than others. 
     Chris is who this post is about. Chris was that kind of person who had a way of seeing magic in the world and if I spent time with her, she let me experience it through her eyes.  She was awesome like that, still is.
     On the playground at school we spent a lot of time involved in elaborate campaigns featuring our favorite Star Wars scenes.  It was either that, or we reenacted scenes from the book "Where the Red Fern Grows."  We didn't play people characters, just the hound dogs roles, Big Dan and Little Ann. We did an awful lot of running.
     Second grade holds a lot of memories for me. It was the first time I told someone, who wasn't family, that I loved them. That was Chris, when I hung up the phone with her.  My mother was not amused.  I think she believed it was impossible for a kid of 8 or 9 years old to have such feelings. And, much as I can remember, it was a friendly kind of love.  Like family, someone very dear to me.
     Chris moved away from the area sometime around the third grade.  She was my best friend.  We would talk on the phone for hours on end.  She and I exchanged letters.  Honestly, she wrote more than I did. But I held my own. 
     Chris was very kind, had eyes like fire and she had very short, sandy blonde hair, and freckles.  Short hair on girls was common at the time, thanks to Olympic Skater, Dorothy Hamil. However, her short hair still shocked my brother and I remember being embarrassed and angry, wanting to punch my brother when they first met for asking if she was a boy or a girl. My brother, Robert, always seemed thrown off by her.
     Nonetheless, Chris put me at ease with her logical mind.  Her unrelenting attention to detail and fresh outlook on things made me feel welcome in her presence. When meeting someone who puts you at ease like that, someone who makes you believe in yourself, I think that it's important to hold on to them. I try my best to learn from them, and learn with them.Chris has been no exception. But unfortunately, later in life, my world changed and I lost sight of that for a while.  As a result, there were a lot of years in my twenties and thirties where I did not know Chris, or even where she was. More about that later.
     Like I said, Chris had moved away from the area, just across town.  She was far enough away that I didn't see her often.  I was about nine years old when she came for a visit one day,  before my family moved even further away towards downtown San Diego. I was happy to see her. We ran off to the canyon at the end of the street.  The grass had grown so tall over the springtime that it stood over our heads.  We talked to each other while out of sight of one another, through the grass.  The tall, sand colored grass mixed with mustard plants and went on for such a large stretch that we finally just stopped and bent the vegetation over and pushed it back to lie down on a bed of it. We watched the clouds for a  time, making out shapes and admiring the beauty of it all. We talked and I remember just taking in the moment.  Across the valley, I could see the large crooked oak tree where my brother and I played and built a tree house. I could also see where the creek ran east to west in a thin line down the middle of the valley to where it ended in the small pond, which was surrounded by a thick growth of horsetail and reeds. 
     Being a kid had great benefits.  Chris's pockets produced a long party streamer, a paper ribbon, about two inches wide. As the wind picked up, Chris found a small thumb sized rock and tied the end of the ribbon around the rock and threw it into the air.  To my surprise the ribbon caught the wind and lifted up like a kite, rising higher and higher.  Her rock was up in the sky.  She had magically found a way to fly a rock like a kite.
     She reeled it in.  Near her feet, she gathered up another small rock.  She tore the long ribbon and handed me half with the rock.  I tied the end of the streamer around the rock and soon we were both flying our rocks in the grass on that summer afternoon. I don't know how long we were there, maybe half an hour.  But it was timeless. I knew in my heart I would never forget the enchantment of that moment. I was right. I can still see it clearly in my memory.
     Chris came out to San Diego for a visit a few years back. It was the Fourth of July Weekend. I introduced her to my family and we enjoyed her visit immensely. When my wife had asked how it was that Chris and I had lost touch for so many years, through my twenties, Chris replied. "I could see we were taking different paths." Indeed I had.  I lost sight of myself for too many years.  I forgot who I always wanted to be. 
     Time moves in strange ways. But although time can disconnect us from one another, the truth of friendships is that real friends will pick up where they left off. I feel that with Chris.  The sincerity I saw in her youth pervades through her even now. She still breathes magic into the world with her wide eyes. The depth of her curiosity goes on and on. Today, Chris is a fifth grade school teacher.  She inspires sharp, young minds in a school in Indiana.  Maybe I'm making too much of how I see her, but by the end of the night, fireworks lit up the sky. Even though it was the fourth of July, Chris made things much brighter. There is magic in people, certainly in Chris.

The First One Though the Portal

     

     I'm going to back up a minute. I was born in 1970, April.  Before I came along, my brother had come through the portal two years earlier.  He alone was the advance team.  They named him after my dad and so I'll call him Junior. That's what mom and dad called him anyway.
      In the beginning, we were both little, Junior and I.  Of course, me being younger, he was larger by the time I popped out of the portal. I got the impression that he felt slighted.  Maybe he believed mom and dad didn't think he was good enough to keep as an only child, or maybe he feared that I would usurp his power from the throne one day.  Whatever the reason, Junior had a few issues with me.  It is very likely that he grew concerned I would one day take his toys.

     By the time I was two years old, I had roughly caught up to him in size. I'm sure that did not quell his fears. My stature couldn't be helped.  I was, after all, born to succeed, being that he was the Beta and I had two more years of engineering on me by our parents.  It's no wonder he cast those spiteful glances my way as we watched cartoons every Saturday morning. I did however, envy how he always knew precisely when to turn the television to the correct channel to watch our favorite shows. That was before I discovered the inflexible dimension of linear time. 

     Then out of nowhere, the tables turned. I still recall the fateful morning when my mother ran, rushing around the house, curlers in her hair, getting my brother's lunch ready, making sure he had his jacket, and all those other things kids take on their first day at school.  I clearly remember standing in the doorway, ready to follow him out on whatever adventure he headed off to, and my mother, tears in her eyes, told me he had to go and I had to stay.  I felt certain that he was doomed, that I'd never see him again.  I went back into the house, and played with his toys. 

     Of course he did make it back, eventually.
     With him gone most of the time, I spent a lot of my free time out riding my motorcycle.  Yes, I was into bikes.  They got me excited.  I had this yellow motorcycle with a two footed power train.  (See Photo) It was an awesome upgrade from the Inchworm I used to ride around the neighborhood in. I mean, hey, it was 1974, not the dark ages and so far i had not yet experienced the power of the Big Wheel.
     If I wasn't riding around the neighborhood, or crafting in my room. I was probably playing with my toy cars.  I loved those things.  I recall a particular day when I was home because it was cold and cloudy outside.  I had brought a tub of soapy water into our bedroom and washed all my cars.  Some were in better shape than others, but I loved them all. I counted them out, after they had all been dried off and lined up, in an array of bright colors over plastic and metal varieties.  It was astonishing to learn that I owned over one hundred cars, if I could count correctly, which is largely debatable.  But I remember that figure just flooring me. It didn't make me proud, or feel accomplished.  I simply remember wanting more.
     Sometime after that, I sat in our bedroom.  Junior and I had bunk beds and he got the top bunk since he was the Beta and all.  I think my parents didn't want to risk me getting damaged in a fall.  Junior was out playing with his friends and I was alone with glue, scissors, paper, and cardboard.  Those were the contemporary tools of my trade, being that awesome toys were hard to come by on a budget. I enjoyed crafting some toys of my own.
     Mom came in, asked if I needed anything.  I nodded, and then shook my head, "no."  Seeing that I was fairly occupied with advanced feats of engineering, she left.  My aircraft was nearly complete, a triple winged Fokker DR-1.  Yes, the Red Baron's famous plane.  The model I crafted was spctacular, especially to my four year old eyes.
     Later on that year, sometime in July, Junior had a birthday.  He got some pretty sweet gifts. Some of the gifts he received that year included a selection of Matchbox cars and Hot Wheels.  Oh, he was rolling in the luxury. (No pun intended.) In the afternoon that day, Mom was at the table talking to a friend of hers.  Junior was off doing something, playing in the living room, I think with some other toys.
     I found his new Hot Wheels and picked them up to admire their craftsmanship. I knew as soon as they were in my hands that he was looking at me. I could feel the tension of his telepathic anger pressing into my neck from his stare.  I knew they were his cars, but really, does an admirer of fine automobiles need to make an appointment for such activities?  In a flash, he lunged at me and I ducked. He missed my jaw by mere millimeters. 
     We ran through the house and he was yelling at me all the way, "Give em back!"  Rudeness did not become young Junior.  I feigned my fear and targeted the door of my parents bedroom.  I gauged that if I could make it to the door, I could jump on the bed an spring to safety by bouncing across the room at one tenth the speed of light. Surely that would be adequate to clear his grasping hands.
     I nearly made it to the bed when I looked back as I crossed the door frame. Junior was almost on top of me and his clenched fist was pulled back. I thought I was a goner for sure. I jumped, leaping for the bed.  As I bounced, my body accelerated and behind me I heard a loud popping sound, followed by a yell of terror.  The hairs on my arms stood up.
     When I looked back, Junior was cradling his right hand with his left and tears ran down his face as he grimaced with such agony, I felt horribly bad for him.  It was then I saw the blood running out of his hands.  It was bad. When mom caught up to us, she was yelling, asking what had happened.  I told her quickly that he attacked me.  He'd tried to hit me and hit the metal, aptly named, strike plate with his fist with deadly power.  My mom was furious with him.  Birthday or no birthday, Junior was not only in trouble, he was paying for it with blood - got what he deserved, etc.  That's all I could make out from my mother's angry mumbling.  When she was really mad, she didn't even move her mouth or lips. Sound just came out of her face, her lips pulled wide by whatever force was brewing in her head.  It made her words hard to understand.  This was one of those times.
     I made myself scarce and took his cars with me.  I felt bad, but not that bad.  I mean, he had meant to hurt me, so... I don't know how many stitches he got. There were a lot, I'm sure.  The scar is there to this day, about forty years later. Nowadays, when we get into it verbally, usually in jest, I remind him of it, and then I regret it, again and again. I wish that I hadn't picked up those cars.    

 
  

The Accident

(The Street I lived on, viewed from above)

     I wrestled with the idea of a new blog for sometime.  This one is going to be autobiographical.  If necessary, names will be changed to protect the identity of others, but in all, the account I will reveal is my own.  My name is D. Paul Fonseca.  Welcome.
     I think that a lot of the things I remember from when I was very small are the things which just stand out because they were important moments for me.  I remember being about two years old in Virginia and being upset that I couldn't go play in the snow with my brother and our friends. I remember running from my first dog, Samantha, as she chased me around the backyard, up and over the swing-set slide. She was such a cool, big dog. And I remember kissing little, sandy-blonde-haired Ronda in the yard between our two houses when I was about five or six. My parents and my aunt had a nickname for her, "Raunchy Ronda." I didn't know about that nickname until I was in my twenties and told them about that first kiss. When I think back to it, I remember it being pretty darn good. 
      Of all the things I remember, one of the clearest memories in my head took place when I was about six years old, living in Poway, at the high end of a hill-sloped street called Hillcountry Drive.  Our house sat one house down from the top of the hill.  Across the street, two of the houses had swimming pools.  At the height of summer, it was great.  We often got to visit the home of one of the neighborhood couples, Al and Brenda, to enjoy the water. They didn’t have kids and they liked us to come visit whenever we could, so we took liberty of going over to swim in their tropical looking, bright blue pool; however, I did not really know how to swim.  I never had lessons.  My parents didn’t think it was a big deal and so I didn’t either.  You could find me most summers clinging to the side of the pool, crab-walking along the concrete lip of it, skinny as a string bean and dark as kid from India.  The sun darkened me like you wouldn’t believe. It's my Mexican roots that bring it out in me.        
     Anyway... the accident happened in the middle of winter.  It was after school and we were not at Al and Brenda’s.  I’d gone over to see the kid two doors down from Al & Brenda’s.  His name was Jay-Jay.  He was a scraggly little blonde haired kid with very few rules enforced upon him by his parents.  They were very hippy–like, if I remember correctly.   Anyway... Jay Jay was a little pain in the butt.  He was a year younger and ten times more immature. 
      It was cold out and early in the afternoon.  Jay Jay and I were looking into the cold water of the deep end of his parents black bottomed pool.  He had this big single glass oval shaped  pair of goggles like you see in all the old movies.  We took turns sticking our eyes and part of our face under water at the deep and of the pool to see the things we’d thrown in: a rock, a shoe, and his toy boat that we sank with the rock and the shoe.  I think that I instigated Jay Jay’s aggressive nature because I joked with him by putting my hands on his sides and pretending to shove him in, but holding him back from falling in for real.  So, in retrospect, not really something nice to joke about.  No joke at all, really.  Maybe I provoked him, but the next time I knelt down and readied myself to stick my head in the water, I felt him kick my butt as hard and fast as he could-not to pretend, but a real shove.
      It was cold that day, windy, and partly cloudy.  I had on this very heavy wool and cloth jacket.  It really did make me look like a sheep, now that I think about it.
     Going under the water, the whole world changed.  It got dark.  All I could see around me were the black walls of the pool, then I turned over and saw the sun beaming in through the surface of the water.  I  had no chance to catch my breath, I went in so fast.  All the air in my lungs left quickly trailing off in tiny bubbles.  That wool jacket felt like it was made of rocks and I went straight down.
      I struggled to swim, but I didn’t know how.  I started to panic and I saw Jay Jay’s face looking down at me, a look on his face like fascination, like he was watching a fly whose wings he'd just plucked off. He sat, intrigued to watch it walk around out of its element.
      I remember trying to breathe underwater and it hurt. Pain ran into my chest and spread to my arms.  My chest felt instantly cold.  I could feel my heart beating hard, and then I knew I’d made a mistake.
      Suddenly, everything turned white and I was warm again, like I had been sucked up into a vacuum. I suddenly found myself high up in the sky, hovering over the backyard of Jay-Jay’s parents house. I felt light, detached and everything was silent.  There was almost no sound at all.  I looked down behind the houses and saw the canyon, and the creek which led to the pond.  The pond was nearly dried up, just black and mucky then.  I looked out and realized I could see all the way to the ocean, I was so high up.  I tried to focus below me.  I saw Jay-Jay sitting on the side of the pool and then I saw someone come out of the house. It was Jay Jay’s dad.  He looked angry. He saw me in the water.  Then, I saw me in the water!  I was a white lump of jacket fluff lying at the bottom of the pool and my arms and legs stretched out, limp, lifeless, and I just lay there face up on the bottom, unmoving.
     Jay Jay’s dad pulled his shirt off as he got closer to the water and he jumped in quickly. I saw him pull me up and he kept trying to hold me right side up, but my head just kept lolling over.  He walked up the concrete stairs at the shallow end of the pool with me in his arms, then he tipped me over.  He hit my back and nothing happened.
     I looked around from the sky and thought how beautiful it was there.  It was so quiet. I saw our house and my mom was in the back yard watering some plants. I looked back at where I was lying on the pavement next to the grass.  They rolled me onto the grass and beat on my back.  Jay Jay's dad had me on his knee. There were a few people out there now.  Jay Jay’s mom and older sister, and some other kid I didn’t recognize were all out there.  Jay Jay’s mom had her hand on her mouth in horror, and I remember she was wearing a sleeveless top and I thought, “Isn’t she cold?”
     Suddenly, I was on the grassy ground, coughing and throwing up water, and it was weird because it was like my lungs were expelling the water out like you’d wring out a wet wash cloth constricting and squeezing in bursts. It hurt. I felt cold, sick and embarrassed.  Jay Jay’s dad got up and looked at me and then at Jay Jay.  He just said, “You, go home.” And then to Jay Jay, “Get inside!”
     My clothes were soaked.  I remember my legs were shaking like I almost couldn’t walk.  Jay Jay’s mom helped me stand up.  I went out the side gate to the front of the house.  It was a short walk up the street to my house.and my mom met me at the door asking me what happened.  I told her I fell into the pool.  Bu that's all I said. She brought me inside and I don’t remember anything after that.
     Years later I asked my mom if she remembered me falling into the pool and she doesn’t remember.  I never really made a big deal of it since I thought I was in big trouble.  I never really thought about how my perspective changed from being in the water and then being high in the air.  It felt natural.
     I know I’ll never forget that feeling though.  It’s the feeling I tried to recreate when I wrote about a dream I had “The Silence.”  Some things are hard to forget. “It’s the silence I remember most. The silence, and the air rushing by.”