On the problem of the calculation of the moon's orbit of the earth, Isaac Newton is reported to have said, "It causeth my head to ache." The heavenly bodies orbit on ellipses, their primary bodies located at one of the two foci of an ellipse, due to the gravitation of the primary body, as the earth is primary to the moon and the sun to the earth. Due to the sun's interaction with the moon, the problem is not exactly solvable.
I had left school in Kansas and went to visit Texas, or as one might say, changed Coke to Pepsi. It broke my heart to leave school and it's hard to tell the story. So let's put it another way, that I am sleeping, that this is dreaming. It's easy when compared to mythic figures like the age thirty-five hedge fund manager enjoying a Friday night in Manhattan, or the age forty-five billionaire on a Saturday night in Dubai, or the age twenty-five hacker, having received a hundred million dollars in venture capital to grow her company, is hacking away on a new kind of movie experience on a Sunday night in San Francisco. Compared to these folks, I am asleep, sleeping, dreaming, even snoring. It's okay. I get it and I think you will, too. This way I can wake up when finished here, and it will have been a kind of sad dream, an odd occurrence or likely aberration or purgative discourse, waking to follow the yellow brick dust in the wind.
Erica and I are watching an interactive movie, directed by yours truly, compiled for the first time in late October of that year, some twelve ago, about five years before she married Richard. I want you to know foremost that I love beauty. I love it the way we say we love life. It's unfortunate and goes not recommended. One moves onward and upward in this world by loving the power of such things, their use and utility. Love the power of life, the power of love, the power of song. I see I have been in love with beauty qua beauty, neglecting reverence to all her intents and purposes. Do not do this, or you will suffer, shepherd in wolf's garb, political.
So I left school over a beauty of one curious and one beholden eye, as Helen before Troy. You can call me Professor Neko, she said, or Dr. Neko. Let my name equal Johan. One can think of me as Johan Burke. When thinking of Neko, I found it best to use new names to keep myself strong. And so, as it pleases, let ours bespeak ourselves, so that we can better approximate a solution to the problem.
Imagine a binary solar system of two stars. Let the earth orbit these two suns. For ease of mind, imagine there is a great giant invisible star about which the smaller two stars pertain to orbit. In this way we can see an order of magnitude beyond our own sun, earth, and moon system. A giant star, two suns, earth, and moon system. One already feels an import of this variegated dreamlife. We thank the viewer for his time and her nature, regarding our predisposition to establish and perpetuate by order and system, our desire elucidating the want for as much, ingratiating and betrayed as it sounds.
We feel something suddenly and unexpected, a mild frisson of a hint of anger and insight and boredom and realize we are dreaming, though we cannot remember what we were dreaming about just a moment ago. Was it about someone we knew a long time ago? Was it someone in a crowd who resembled another? And the selfsame efflorescence, and briefly we are afloat above the ground, situated in the lotus position, hovering above the sidewalk sketched with oak and maple leaves, rising to crest above obstacles along the way, along the shade in a sense of warmth and peace. Your willpower does the work of raising and stooping your body under branches and over the hedgerows and gateways. It is warm and calm, in the golden evening light. Your will opening your limbs and stretching them out as you begin to swim through the air, swimming through the air along the treetops and over the homes and the parks.
A falcon appears before us, moving quickly but steadily, on intervals soaring and swooping, seeming to allow us to hold pace as it darts downward some distance, catching an updrift then and continuing to soar on outstretched wings, black and sleek and calm. A call is heard to the falcon from below and it darts sideways and we follow in a great arcing parabolic motion back around the other way, towards the calling sound, elevating farther as the falcon sweeps around, encircling the falconer, a dark figure standing on the street, keeping watch on the bird. It is warmer and calmer farther above the street. The dark figure, a woman, chirps a longer call and the falcon expands its course outward and upward and we follow languidly, flying and flowing. The peace and warmth is palpable as fruit.
The falconer chirps twice and the bird careens on a tangent and we follow. For several minutes we drift along behind it, warmth running like the currents of time through us, until we lose track of time and feel only the warmth and the swooping oscillation of the falcon. It takes upward to a great height, the sky darkening and cooling, the stars shimmering, then the falcon angles downward, screeches, angling straight downward. The scream of the falcon breaks our rhythm and we fly harder, willing ourselves after the falcon, knowing it will jut sideways as we pierce the veil into the great below. Through the emerald and ochre canvas into the below, radiating a kind of light that our scales absorb without harming us, towards the glowing lake. Blasting upon the water, diving into the lake, our scales absorbing its burn without harming us. Heaving a stomachful of the fluid it loosens the knots inside of us and we bear down and leap upwards, toward the surface from the bottom, crushing bones underfoot, emerging and rocketing on a line towards the pinhole of twilight in the painted sky, the puncture mending itself behind us as we enter unharmed back into the middle world.
The falcon is spiraling upward in the atmosphere, waiting under the cool, midnight blue of the starlit, shimmering heavens. The falcon leads us to the living world, towards the falconer. We feel our purposes and powers, expectant, brazen and ready for command, encircling the falconer. She has walked outside the city to the airport, calling the falcon to her arm. We touch down on the airstrip, scorching the tarmac. The falconer soothes the falcon, lulling and humming. "Good," she says, opening its cage. She locks the cage and paces toward us. She appears less human and more phantasmic as she approaches, now kaleidoscopic, now cobaltic, a blue dragon. She thanks us for helping her. In the feeling of loving grace, her aspect returns to the shape of her living being, assimilating her living form, becoming human again. We also return to living, human form, as time and gravity, humor and humility, resume, and we remember life as it happens.
"I have something," I said, tired from the flight, handing her a medallion. She wonders about it and I say it's for good luck, that it belonged to my grandmother. "When something good happened to her," I said, "she held it, meditating, asking angels to bless it for good luck." She holds the medal in her hand, asking what is it. "It was my grandfather's, before he died, from the war. He did the same when he got back to base after bombing the Nazis." She looked at me strangely, asking why it should be hers, saying it should better stay in the family. "I like you and I want you to have it." Again she looked at me strangely. "I like you too, Burke."
She drove me back to Lawrence from Kansas City. My roommates were out. She came in and I showered as she watched TV. We both had work in the morning and went to bed early.