It wasn't infinity in fact. Infinity itself looks flat and uninteresting. Looking up into the night sky is looking into infinity--distance is incomprehensible and therefore meaningless. The chamber into which the aircar emerged was anything but infinite, it was just very very very big, so big that it gave the impression of infinity far better than infinity itself.
Arthur's senses bobbed and spun as, traveling at the immense speed he knew the aircar attained, they climbed slowly through the open air, leaving the gateway through which they had passed an invisible pinprick in the shimmering wall behind them.
The wall.
The wall defied imagination--seduced it and defeated it. The wall was so paralyzingly vast and sheer that its top, bottom and sides passed away beyond the reach of sight. The mere shock of vertigo could kill a man.
I know a little something about vertigo. I have experienced it on more than one occasion. It's hard to describe. It's as if the walls are spinning in one direction and the floor is pulsing. It's as if you can feel how fast the planet is actually hurtling through outer space around the sun. It's as if you are on a roller coaster and a merry-go-round and a space shuttle being launched into orbit at once. It's as if you are having a heart attack and a stroke at the same time. It's as if some person has pulled the thin carpet of reality out from under your feet and you are floating in a place where boundaries don't exist.
If you have never experienced vertigo, none of this will make sense to you. If you are unfortunate enough to suffer from vertigo, the above paragraph will probably make you run for your bottle of Meclazine. I take Meclazine every morning, as a prophylactic against bouts of vertigo. It makes me feel safer.
This day has become a little vertiginous for me. The plan was for my family to drive to Canyon Falls and go for a little hike in the morning. Then, in the afternoon, we were going to see Toy Story 4. In the evening, it was to be dinner at a local microbrewery/restaurant.
Some of those plans have gone out the window. My daughter, who got home last night from Washington state at around midnight, did not want to go for a hike today. My wife went to pick up some medications and have brunch with a friend. Nix the hiking of Canyon Falls. We are supposedly still planning to go to the movie, if my wife gets back in time from brunch and my daughter drags herself out of bed in time. That is a big "if." We are also supposedly going out to dinner tonight, as well. Then, we are going to a July 4th fireworks display that was canceled last night because of rain.
In short, the whole day has been one big case of vertigo for me so far. At the moment, I am typing this post at an entirely different location than normal. It's a place owned by one of my best friends. She keeps me grounded when I'm feeling a little . . . well, vertiginous. So does her place. The world is not spinning as fast for me now that I've been here an hour or so. I'm rediscovering the gravity of my life.
You all know that I thrive on the false assumption that I have some control over everything that happens to me. Vertigo is a strong reminder that my life can tornado out of control at the drop of a feather. That's what happened to me this morning.
Before I sat down to type this post, I wrote in my journal. I ended my entry like this: "Please, God, my life is in your hands. Send me peace today. Happiness today. Love today." I don't want to live a life of physical or mental or spiritual vertigo.
Saint Marty is going to take another Meclazine now.
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