Fuck.
After I cleanedup, we settled into the living room, talking through the night and into theearly morning. We sat by the fire, our conversation flowing freely and easilybetween topics ranging from our favorite Muppets (she’s a lifelong Gonzo fan,while I’m team Beaker all the way) to religion, to physics.
“I don’tunderstand. How can you say you’re a ‘man of science’ and then talk about thewill of the Fates?” she asked.
“To pursue oneis to pursue the other,” I replied.
Lennox screwedup her face. “How doesthatmake sense? Isn’t listening to the will ofthe Fates the same thing as praying to God and waiting for an answer?”
“You’ll un—”
Lennox placedher finger to my lips. “And don’t say ‘you’ll understand once we’re bound.’ Iwant you to explain it to me now.”
I nodded. “Aye.But, in that case, I should put another log on the fire, and you should refillour glasses.”
As Lennox pouredus another round, I selected one of many split logs from the stack in thewooden box next to the hearth.
“What we call‘listening to the Fates’ isn’t like praying. It’s more like paying very closeattention to absolutely everything and everyone around you, all at once.Listening to and absorbing the energy from whatever is willing to reveal itselfto you.”
Lennox’s eyeswidened. “That sounds terrifying.”
“Actually, it’squite peaceful. The more you learn to listen to your surroundings, the easierit is to be guided by the Fates, which brings on immense feelings of peace.”
She shrugged.“Okay, but what you’re describing still doesn’t sound scientific to me. Itsounds emotional.”
“Even emotionsare guided by scientific principles. The body produces serotonin and dopamine,as well as other chemicals, which affect and regulate our moods, right?”
“Yes, but whatdoes that have to do with listening to the universe, or whatever?”
I held up thelog. “What do you feel when you look at this?”
“I can’t say Ifeel anything toward a piece of firewood, so I supposeambivalence.”
“Fair enough,” Isaid. “It’s only a chunk of wood after all, right?”
Lennox nodded.
I set the logdown on the coffee table and knelt down in front of her. “Place your hands onthe firewood, close your eyes, and relax your thoughts.”
Once Lennox didas I instructed, I placed my hands over hers, slowed my breathing, andconcentrated on the log.
“What can youtell me?” I asked.
I opened myselfup, allowing the life force of the log to flow through me and into Lennox.
“Oh, my god.This is incredible. How are you—”
I shushed her.“Concentrate. What can you tell me?”
“This wood isfrom a tree that lived for over one thousand years,” she said.
“Good. Whatelse?”
“It lived in theforest, ten kilometers northeast from here, until last April when it was struckby lightning,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
I took her handand kissed it gently. “Aye, love. Very good.”
“That wasamazing.”
