For most of the week, I didn't hear anything from "Mark," the man who -- as you might remember -- had contacted me about a freelance job interviewing people who claimed to have seen "glowing" and possibly "immortal" beings. Mark neither endorsed nor discredited such reports and maintained that his interest -- and that of the his organization -- was primarily to figure out why the number of such reported incidents had been increasing. It seemed like an interesting question, and my initial inclination was to accept his offer. 
I went running and tried to imagine what it would be like to see a glowing immortal. 
In some ways, it didn't seem like it would be more miraculous than the heather gardens. We all see or encounter things that to someone living a hundred years ago would seem like the height of fantasy. "Miracles" are not too difficult to envision in the context of technology and the future, but couldn't the same be said of the past? 
So much has disappeared from the earth -- driven to extinction as a result of inutility or external forces -- that we typically assume these things could never come back, but occasionally they do. It's difficult to conceive of time as cyclical because our own lives are so linear. But we've all heard the stories of the fishermen who one day pulled in a prehistoric fish off the coast of Africa. Or what about the dawn redwood, which was long thought to be extinct until a grove of these trees was discovered in a remote part of China in the 1940s? Last week, someone wrote to tell me about Babaji, an Indian saint/yogi who has reportedly been seen by any number of witnesses over the past 150 years or so. 
Is it so outlandish to consider the idea that a kind of immortal species had once been part of society, and was now returning? Of course it's outlandish, but there was still the question of why people were seeing these things now. Every generation is marked by truth and mania, and it's difficult to know where to draw the line. 
The days passed and my inbox remained empty. 
Any disappointment I felt gradually turned into something closer to a kind of wistful relief and calcifying skepticism, not so much because of the idea of immortals, but because of my (prospective) involvement in the project. Had I been twenty years younger, I would have jumped at the opportunity to do something -- anything! -- so unexpected, but I was now more wary. I'm not always the best judge of character (including my own). I reminded myself of the problematic dealings I had endured over the years with others for whom I had initially felt great affection and enthusiasm, but who had turned out to be malicious. And while I wouldn't go so far as to say I was completely blameless or innocent in these transactions (the details of which I'll save for another day), I'm no longer interested in taking outlandish risks for entertainment. As an Aries, I tend to latch on to people and their causes with an obsession that can be blinding and self-destructive. 
(I'm not sure I believe in astrology, but I'm not saying I don't believe, either.) 
Still, I considered, my life is good. Maybe it's a little uneventful at times, but it's peaceful: most days, I go to work, which is occasionally frustrating and occasionally stimulating, but is objectively better than breaking rocks or bagging groceries (or even practicing law). At home, I spend time with Stephen and the cats (i.e., my family.) We make dinner and watch television, some of which is fun and entertaining ("Bates Motel," the Swedish version of "The Bridge," "The Great British Bake Off," "Deutschland 83") and some of which quickly becomes an exercise in tedious obligation (every original show ever produced by Netflix, Hulu, and Showtime, sorry "House of Cards" and "OITNB"). On weekends, we tend to the garden and go on walks around the neighborhood or down to the river. We feel lucky to be relatively insulated from so many of the horrible things that are happening in this world (with the exception of the collapsing MTA), most of them engineered by the Republican party post-Nixon and their supporters, at home and abroad. 
Is there anyone besides a small percentage of very wealthy people who don't feel like the world is on the brink of collapse? Maybe this precarious state of affairs is an explanation for why people are seeing "gods" more now than they were a generation ago. Desperate times, etc. Or maybe these immortals were actually coming back from somewhere, to help. 
But even if glowing immortals were coming back to change the fundamental conception of civilization, did I need to get involved? I mean, changing the course of civilization seems like a good idea at this juncture, but I wasn't sure I was the right person for the job. I had already "paid my dues" and wanted to relax. I had marched so many times in the eighties and nineties: I had worked for non-profit environmental groups. On balance I think my "carbon footprint" is relatively small, at least for an American. 
I can't even remember the last time I was in a car. #smug 
I began to worry. If, out a sense of desire or obligation, I got involved in this project, what would happen next? What if I got "swept up" in something I couldn't control? It suddenly felt like a risk. I don't think there's any science to prove the notion that insanity is contagious, but -- if you're even moderately obsessive, like me -- sometimes you meet people who say things that stick in your mind and lead you to do things that would have never otherwise occurred to you (or at least not in your conscious; the unconscious is obviously a swamp of unexcavated yearning). Then, before you know it, you're being led around on strings you can't even see, doing and saying things that you know you're going to regret. When you're young, such behavior is expected and even condoned, but at my age it just seems stupid and irresponsible, a sign of someone who has squandered the opportunity to live with any semblance of truth. 
So that was my thinking during the "waiting period." And when I finally did receive an e-mail from Mark -- just a few days ago -- I opened it with the expectation that I would read whatever he had to say, after which I would politely decline and be done with it. I would file it away under "stories to bring up at cocktail parties after at least three strong drinks." 
This, as it turned out, was a reasonable plan in theory, but Mark -- possibly anticipating my emotional trajectory (which also made me feel uneasy but impressed) -- wrote the following: "Hi Matthew -- sorry for the delay in getting back to you, but as promised, please find attached some background information on the project we discussed. If you're still interested, read it over at your leisure, after which I'll be happy to answer any questions you have and, if appropriate, figure out a plan going forward." 
This e-mail appealed to me for several reason: first, it seemed professional but not too stiff, or not "that crazy at all" (or at least not outwardly); second, I was flattered that he seemed to be recruiting me but was giving me plenty of space to mull it over. It wasn't a hard sell, in other words. He wasn't working for Avon. There were a few things that gave me pause, such as the fact that I couldn't remember him alluding to any background materials; if anything, I had been under the impression that he was going to "circle back" and get my decision, which before this second I had thought was going to be "no." I also began to wonder if maybe the e-mail wasn't crazy enough, given the nature of the work. Was Mark playing it a bit too cool? Perhaps, but despite all of my earlier reservations, I was once again intrigued. 
I decided it couldn't hurt to read whatever he had sent. 
I would take him up on his offer. 
Not wanting to completely abandon my stance from the previous week, I thought I should let him know which way I was leaning, so that he could make other arrangements if necessary. "Thanks for the note, Mark," I wrote. "I've spent a lot of time this past week thinking about our conversation, and while I'm certainly interested in the project, I think it's pretty unlikely at this point that I'll have the time to get involved. But if you can really afford to give me a few weeks or so, I'll be happy to look over the materials you sent and get back to you with a firm answer." I thought this e-mail conveyed my position well and posed a kind of "sanity test" on the situation. If Mark wrote back angry or offended, I would know that he was someone to avoid; if he continued to be reasonable, I would have more confidence that it wasn't an act. I hit send and he wrote back very quickly. "Sounds good, Matthew -- take your time and I'll be happy to talk more at your convenience." 
I downloaded the document and opened it. Inside were photographic reproductions of what appeared to be letters and transcripts (or fragments thereof), each one offering a firsthand account of a sighting. Many of them were only a few sentences long, and many had lines and sections blackened out or redacted similar to a FOIA request or a piece of non-responsive discovery. There were 156 pages -- did that number have significance? -- which did not appear to be in an particular order. It occurred to me that deciphering an order was a kind of test for me, which made the competitive/obsessive side of me want to figure it out. I again warned myself not to get too invested. As I knew from experience (both literal and metaphorical, because I've always loved puzzles and word games), there's nothing quite as maddening as being dropped into a labyrinth when there's no way out. 
It was a lot to take in. I didn't try to go in any sequence, but merely "browsed," at least to start. It was overwhelming to see so many reports of something I had never before considered. 
Below is one excerpt I found that I think is fairly typical in length and tone. Nothing was "cut-and-paste-able," so keep in mind that any errors might be original or might be introduced. 
"I was in tenth grade, which I remember because I had gotten my driver's license not long before. One day after school with a couple of friends, I walked up to the woods next to the golf course. It was one of the first really warm days in late April or early May, right around the time when the leaves were just starting to come out and everything looked like it was coated in a haze of phosphorescent green, and we wanted to get massively baked. It had snowed pretty hard that winter, so we were excited not to wear jackets for once. After we smoked for a while, we were just sitting on a log watching the light filter down through the branches and listening to the water go by -- there was a little stream that ran through the woods, and it was running faster than usual because of the melted snow I guess -- when all of a sudden it got really quiet, which was weird because I would have said it was already quiet because we were in the woods, but sometimes you don't realize how much noise there is -- like birds and insects and creaking branches -- until all of a sudden it goes away. There was no sound left but the running water and my breathing. It was pretty intense and my friends and I all looked at each other and we were like 'whoa, what the hell?' We didn't say anything, we could just see it in each others' eyes. It was one of those moments that usually makes you crack up when you're baked, but for some reason I didn't feel like laughing, though I didn't feel like we were in danger, either. It wasn't like a horror movie, where you know someone's about to get their throat slashed open. Then, before any of us could say anything, we all heard something moving across the woods -- it was this combination of twigs breaking on the ground and rustling leaves -- sort of like the sound a big animal makes but again, I wasn't afraid. As I think about it now, everything we saw unfolded in slow motion but at the time I think it was probably just a few seconds. We all saw it at the same time, and even now it's hard to describe because it wasn't like anything I had ever seen before, but there was something moving through the trees. Something pretty big, too, but more like a person than an animal. And I could see that it was like moving on two legs -- like someone running or maybe even "gliding" if that makes any sense -- but it was moving very fast, and it was less like you could see a body than a kind of glowing silhouette or I guess a kind of vapor trail. But not exactly. It was like a watching special effects but in real life. And then it was gone, and the noises of the forest were back and it was like nothing had happened except we all felt somehow different. Like we had seen something important. Or maybe I shouldn't speak for anyone but myself, because I wanted to talk more about it and they were like 'oh the weed must have been laced with something' or whatever and I was like 'sure, I guess, yeah,' but I knew it wasn't the weed, because I've gotten baked a million times and have never saw anything like that. So when I heard about [redacted]..." 
There were a lot more of these reports. Maybe I'll post a few more in the next few weeks, as I try to figure out what to do. 
I want to believe in the impossible and the illogical. Things that can't be explained. Things that aren't part of a right-wing notion of "faith." One night I dreamed about a photograph with a line of glowing headlights, all of which could be attached to some cars on the road. Except then I saw that a few weren't connected to anything, but were just hovering in the background. Maybe that's how the world is: you just assume that everything's logical and functioning, but if you look a little more closely, there are things that can't be explained. 
I wrote back to Mark and told him that I wanted to talk. 
I'm still waiting for a response.
