I trust my dreams in a way I don’t trust myself. In my head, I am a pathological liar. I know better. My dreams know better. It eschews pronouncements. And instead suggests a tone and other vagaries. The familiar hurt that doesn’t shake. Still hours next to you. Sleep finally dies. In the dark. Eyes closed, the feeling remains. I can hear your breath. I can feel your naked skin. They fail to reassure. “Your touch repulses me.” Only spoken in a dream sounds like something you might say. If you weren’t holding back. If you didn’t think this way is easier. And only temporary. You turn your back to me and lie flat on your stomach. “It’s how I like it.” But it’s not. That’s not how it ever was when it really was how you liked it. I wonder how you were two months ago. When you were looking for it. And how it would be if you didn’t still have specific unmet needs.
The story of its original proof fascinates me. Squish together two infinitely non-repeating, irrational, transcendental numbers and an imaginary idea in the correct way and they equal -1. Then slowly prove it over decades by calculating the sine and cosine of the theta angle of thousands of triangles on an x/y plane and realize they are getting closer to your result. Then make the leap to infinity and realize the infinitesimal difference between your answer and -1 can be ignored. I can watch this being done in seconds on YouTube. Euler took a little longer. That level of obstinate, compulsive focus is hard to believe but an impulse I definitely understand. So now I’m getting a masters degree because I was transfixed by this formula. I tattooed it on my right forearm so it is never out of sight.
String theory
Baseball, the Stoics, calculus, Euler’s formula, punk rock, quantum entanglement, aloha ‘āina, Siddhartha, the James Webb Telescope. I don’t know how they all fit together yet, but I know they do. They are all vibrating on the same invisible string.