And I am standing at the top of a massive cliff, and below me is a sea of angry foam and crashing waves wriggling through the rocks like infected veins, beating blood as clear and yet not clear as things like truth and predestination into a heart made almost entirely out of stone. And from where I’m standing, I feel like a God -- I pick up a rock and toss it below, and I can almost imagine it somersaulting through the air like some computer-generated superhero, turning and dancing, flying closer to inevitability, his end in the end of his final magnificent fall. But for a rock, falling is no end so much as it is a beginning. A new beginning that sounds like any other object falling into water -- a solid, echoing noise that rings like a sodden cloth bell between my ears. The sound of destiny, of tides changing and drawing you into a new future. The sound of clarity, of taking your own future into your hands, of acting that one action that allows you to, for just one moment, utterly direct the course of your own life. A decision, an action that cannot be undone. One moment of utter decisiveness.
But for the rock, there was no decision. For me, there is. I want to know the sound I will make when I crash into those glorious veins, when I too beat against a heart of stone. The sound of my own destiny being ripped asunder. The sound of whatever God stands above me scrambling to make up for the unpredictable, for my moment of clarity, my one shining instant of defiance. My one action. My one moment of utter decisiveness.
And someday, when the curiosity overwhelms me from my vantage point atop this cliff, on top of this massive, silent heart, one day I will pick myself up and fall. And fall forever, my own real superhero, flying into my future. My brand new beginning.