The night before I received the news of Mr. Grant’s death I had a dream about seeing him in his Capitol Hill office. It had been nearly ten years since I had worked for him. In the dream, the office was as I remembered it, with the dark mahogany desk, leather chairs and mementos. He greeted me standing in front of his desk. His smile was open and inviting. This was not the sort of welcome I had ever received from him. Yet in this dream nothing could have been more appropriate.
All of his warmth and love washed through me. He was silently welcoming me back. He stepped forward and clasped my hand with both of his, shaking firmly, gleefully, smiling broadly. His face, in full frame, glowed with compassion and friendship. After several long wonderful moments of just being there together, he stepped back, smiled in my direction once more, turned and left the room through the side entrance that led directly into the corridor. I was left standing alone in his office and the dream ended.
A few days later I received a package from Mr. Grant’s estate. The cover letter from the lawyer said that Mr. Grant had given instructions that the enclosed item be forwarded to me.
I knew what it was. I retreated with the package to the quiet of my bedroom, away from the bustle of kids, spouse and dogs. I removed the brown-paper wrapping, and held the wooden object in my hand. I ran my hand over the familiar engraving.
“The colonization of space will be the fulfillment of humankind’s obligation to the Earth.”
I stared at the plaque for a long while and, without warning, the old familiar feeling of heightened awareness came over me. I had not experienced the sensation in a very long time, and never so intensely since those weeks I first learned the meaning of the Obligation.
All of the teaching that Mr. Grant imparted to me years before came rushing back to my consciousness in a torrent. Like a wind blowing through me. I became emotional. Tears welled in my eyes. Once again, I viscerally felt the sense of urgency that Mr. Grant conveyed to me that night on the Capitol steps.
In the years since leaving Mr. Grant’s employment I had drifted far away from the truth I learned about the Obligation. The deep sleep began about the time Tara left DC for a job in Seattle. Though we had professed eternal love for one another, we were on different paths. So when the job offer came, we both knew it was time to end the relationship. Once she was gone, I stopped meditating, and made only sporadic attempts to resume the practice. Mindfulness became an occasional fleeting whisper, a momentary reminder that there was something important I was missing. I stayed involved in space-advocacy causes and took some satisfaction in that. But with each year, I had less and less time to devote to such activities. Not long after Tara moved to the West Coast, I fell in love with the woman who would become my wife. We built a happy family together. Life was just fine for a while.
Sitting with plaque in hand, the ancient feelings were rushing through me again. The room was dim with the late afternoon light coming through the sheer curtains. It was all different in that moment. The feeling was overwhelming. There was no excuse sufficient to deny the truth of this urgency I had learned about so many years earlier.
It was a sensation of having just awoken from a long sleep. I looked down at my hands. They were unfamiliar somehow, as was the whole room. I wiped the wetness from my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I was startled by how old I looked. The last time I looked at myself while in a state of heightened awareness I had been ten years younger. I had been asleep for all that time. In the quiet of my suburban bedroom, something had shifted, leaving me no longer able to ignore the responsibility of the Obligation.
Over the next few days, the sensation stayed with me. I relived the time with Mr. Grant discussing the Endowments and the Obligation. I reconnected with the memory of each of incredible six individuals Mr. Grant had selected to represent the Endowments. And, of course, I recalled the mountain hike with Tara Bingham. It was at that time that I chose to put down in writing as much about those weeks as I could recall. I found buried in a drawer the long version of the floor speech I had written for Mr. Grant, which served as a perfect outline and great resource. That seemed to be a good place to start, at least.
***
It was less than three weeks after I received the plaque in the mail that I found myself in southern Arizona on a business trip. I decided to take the opportunity to retrace the hike I had shared with Tara many years earlier. I thought the climb might help inform how I should respond to the old feelings that were now rekindled inside of me.
I found the trail head. The wooden pole with faded blue paint had been replaced by a more durable plastic and metal marker. It was about the same time of year. The flowers of cactus plants were blooming. I was glad to be better outfitted with proper hiking shoes, wide brimmed hat, a day pack of water and snacks. A steady breeze lessened the oppressive heat of the rising sun. If I was out of shape the first time I made the climb, I was certainly worse-off the second. I stopped frequently along the trail and took my time on the steepest parts. More than once I questioned the wisdom of ascending to the peak, and considered turning around before I hurt myself.
With a sweat-soaked t-shirt clinging to my torso I made a final fitful climb onto the plateau of the peak. A young couple was there, about the same age as Tara and I had been when we first made the trip together. They were friendly and expressed concern for my well being. I assured them that I would be fine as soon as I caught my breath. Breathing through my mouth, I surveyed the view. It was as I remembered. It was still majestic despite the noticeable increase in housing developments in the distance. The young couple said goodbye, satisfied that I would survive, and made their way back down the mountain, leaving me alone with the silence.
I found the shaded spot and sat cross-legged once again. I took the plaque from my backpack and placed it on the ground in front of me. Staring at the object, and recalling Tara’s instructions, I guided myself into meditation. I easily sank into a deep state of relaxation.
I sat still. I could have lingered there indefinitely as my bodily sensations melted away. But the absolute stillness was not to last. It started as a sensation at the base of my spine. I felt a tingling that moved up my back. When the feeling reached my mid-section I began to feel my body vibrating, almost imperceptible at first, but as this energy rose higher, the vibration became more pronounced. I was shaking. The energy accelerated up through my chest, through my throat and up to the top of my head. And then, with a whoosh, I felt myself ascending at a rapid speed into the sky. I was shot into the void of space. I passed the moon, and like some Star Trek special effect, I watched stars whiz passed me. I could see my destination. The center of the Galaxy. The mass of concentrated hot gases. I merged with the center and saw again the connecting threads. They crisscrossed every part of the galaxy, making connection between planets and stars. I was aware of the many races of sentient beings on other worlds that were also connected to these fibers. Then I saw the fibers extend outward from this galaxy, reaching neighboring and distant galaxies. And they all too were connected in this web. I became aware of the collective consciousness of all that I witnessed, as well as the consciousness of the individuals. There was an absolute collective Oneness in all of it. The vision of the universe connected by strings of light increased in intensity until I lost consciousness.
I came back into my body with a slurp of saliva. I opened my eyes. Everything had a shimmering quality. My body was blissfully tingling. I wasn’t sure if I had gotten the answer I was looking for, but the experience did immerse me in a powerful experience of transcendence. What was clear to me was that I could no longer do nothing in the face of what I knew about the Obligation. That much was certain.
I sat alone among the boulders and brush with the sun sinking toward the horizon. I could almost hear the voice of Mr. Grant encouraging me forward. Urging me to get into the mix and push the space settlement agenda again. Or was it the voice of the Evolutionary Impulse itself? I suspected the two are the same.
I lifted the plaque from the ground, returned it to my backpack and carefully began my descent from the mountaintop.