Forever

Gone is a long time, it kinda sounds like forever. And forever is a strange word, it's hard to imagine.
Sometimes I think I can picture forever. I picture it like this.

Take a laser beam, and shoot it right up through the stars. It would be a special laser beam, of course, one that was stronger than a volcano, and one that stayed strong, no matter how far away you shine it. It would start up like a roar on earth and shoot up past the moon in an instant. It would sail past all the planets like lightning, it would brush galaxies, and streak through astroid belts. And no matter how far and how fast you followed it in a space shuttle, you would never be able to catch up with the end of that red line of light. It would be billions of lightyears away from earth, but it would just keep going and going and going.

Then I picture zooming out on the whole incident. Zooming out and out until the milky way is just a speck in a sea of specks. Then, I watch that little red line growing and growing. Expanding and flying through space like water, trickling across dirt.

I try to picture how big I am in comparison.
Which, when you're talking in terms concerning outer space and viewing thousands of galaxies at one time, is less than microscopic. In fact, if I were doing a scientific experiment in which the results of the experiment were the size of the universe, and the margin of error were the size of human being in the universe, the error would be tossed out as insignificant.

After taking some time to meditate on my relative size, I whiz back down to earth, stand right at the base of that gigantic volcano laser beam....and I look up.

I picture that red light going up and up and up, but never reaching the ceiling. That's kinda how I picture forever. And gone is just as big.

Decapitated no more

For years, people in cultures all around the world have marveled at the stoic statue heads standing everywhere on Easter Island.
All of them are about the same size, and all of them have unbelievably boring facial expressions.
How did they get there? Who put them there? How were they transported to their locations all over the island?

Although few answers have been found concerning these famous statue heads, turns out they have once again taken us by surprise. A recent excavation of one of these heads revealed that the Easter Island statue heads, are in fact, not heads at all, but entire bodies.
The Easter Island statue heads are only heads because they are buried in soil up to their necks.

After the first statue was unearthed, more of the heads were examined only to find more statues with complete bodies.

Here is the link to the most-in depth description of this new discovery.

http://m.now.msn.com/now/0516-easter-island-statues

Unfortunately, this discovery only brings to light more questions. Why were all the statues buried? Was it intentional? Or was it the result of natural erosion or some other natural event?

Whatever the reason, the Easter Island statues remain one of the most intriguing mysteries on our planet.

Chase Noah

There are times when I stare my own mistakes in the eye. Sometimes these experiences make me weak, and sometimes they make me stronger.
This weekend has been an experience with the latter effect.

He was a friend and coworker to me. I remember the first time I met him. He came into the room with the most carefree smile. I chuckled to myself because he couldn't sit still. He sat down for a second, then jumped up to get something, then sat down again and repeated the process all over again.
I still laugh when I think of him spraying air freshener down the hall. "One, two, three, four, *spray*. One, two, three, four, *spray*" he said out loud as he walked. He was convinced that a spray every four steps was the perfect balance for the ultimate freshness.
Every time I worked he insisted on taking out the trash for me. "Hey I'm just gonna take this out real quick," he would say briskly, "It's kinda heavy." He always lugged it out for me no matter how many times I told him that I could handle it.
He was great at breaking things, but it was impossible to be mad at him for long. He loved to eat, and had an unquenchable appetite. He was young, athletic, and fun to have around.

We were surprised when we found out on Saturday that he hung himself.
All of my coworkers at the animal clinic where I work, and myself, have been in a state of shock for the last few days. Clients who come in for appointments have been met with a halfhearted reception.
Talk in the break-room is gloomy and filled with regrets. Most of us hope that he just drank too much, it clashed with his medication, and he went crazy and didn't know what he was doing. It's easier to think of it in those terms.

Either way, our friend Chase is gone.

Now, I've made mistakes in my life, I admit that, but fortunately I've never made any mistakes that had permanent results like the one that Chase made this weekend. In the end, all we can ever really hope for, is that our mistakes will mold us into a person with whom we can be content; a person who has been burned and bent and strengthened by the mistakes they've made.

Seeing the results of Chase's decision, and feeling the grief of his loss, has given me a fresh insight into my own growth. I can say that I am content with my change, and that realization is truly a peaceful feeling.
I only wish that Chase could have given himself the benefit of changing, and feeling the same.

Rest in peace, Chase, we miss you.

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