…before I start to feel crazy, deluded. It’s impossible not to. It’s become a chant to ward off the feeling of negativity, something to keep telling myself that I repeat so many times the actual meaning of the words cease to carry along with the action of doing so. And yet when I repeat them, when I write the words, I don’t feel negativity. I feel evangelical. Perhaps that’s the problem – religious faith has always seemed naive to me, so why shouldn’t secular faith feel the same way? When I repeat the words I am sometimes desperate, something I’ve also perceived in faith. I’m clinging to the words to keep me afloat. Because if I don’t believe these words then I may as well just stop kicking and let the waves take me. I’ve been writing the same phrase for months now. We’ve been doing this thing for 12 months straight. And my repetitiveness betrays the desperation I’ve felt, the yearning for this thing to happen, the fear I’ve had that I’m wrong, the worries I’ve had about the obstacles along the way. The way I can always be felled by a single negative note even after an orchestra of progress. Perhaps it may not make for good reading. But tonight, again, I found that didn’t matter just as it hasn’t mattered so many times before, when in fact it’s me I’m writing for and me who’s reading and me who returns to the posts and finds something in the words I’ve written, the words I’ve repeated again and again, something to stop the flame from guttering. So I can’t really believe that it’s taken me this long to write about the deepest moment of this journey, the night I must keep remembering whenever I use those words so they don’t drift into mere mantra. We watched Interstellar again tonight so it’s only right to finally try and pull it out of my memory given that it was the same film that prompted what I have to describe as a religious experience, or a spiritual experience, or maybe more happily just a human experience. We watched the film over the Christmas/New Year break. I was already basically weeping by the end and knew I had to get out and see the night sky and when I got there I stumbled to my knees under a cave of stars revealed as the remaining clouds passed away overhead. I couldn’t stop crying under the weight of it all. Films affect me, maybe more than is usual or proper or whatever but whatthehell. A powerful story exerts a power over me and I find it’s visual storytelling that gives the biggest wallop. I found myself craning to the galaxies above expecting a message, and under the influence of the film actually wrestling with the belief that the film itself was a message. That this sensitivity to what I call a ‘crescendo’ narrative is my self responding to a transmission – perhaps to all Fellow Interplanetary (Interstellar) Travellers – repeating the phrase I began this post with again and again and again like a deep space beacon, a guiding tenet broadcast celestially. And this thought butted up against another thought. A celestial message from a celestial power, a god, God or Gods, a consciousness in the studded dark. When it’s said ‘And God spoke to me’ I have always assumed the speaker insane simply because hearing voices, hearing God voices no less, is pretty mental isn’t it? Yet apparently people of a particularly auditory bent even hear their own thoughts, occasionally startled by them as if they were an external voice. When I hear someone say they spoke to God or God spoke to them I contextualised it as a conversation. I never imagined they could mean an EXPERIENCE. A human experience of such profound scale that a mind might instinctively (instinctively?) grasp for an external platform to rest on because the individual foundations were made so unstable by the experience itself. But I had an experience that could have been talking to God. I could have walked back into the house believing in God. I could have defined the soaring feeling of being so alive and so empowered with having been born again in faith. I even, in the moment, sincerely tried this form on. I opened myself to the reality of being wrong, of there being a God, of him speaking to me. I left this part of my self open but no higher power or bigger force than my own consciousness stepped over the breach. Up in the vastness I found a belief. It was a belief in us, in our dream, a conviction that it will happen and we will make it happen. I heard a voice but it wasn’t celestial it was human. It was my voice, our voice, the human voice of conviction. And now I think I can see the message too, or the origin of the message, and although yes I am once again influenced by another’s narrative I don’t mind that. I don’t mind someone else’s power directing my own. Isn’t it human to build on oneanother’s conviction, oneanother’s strengths? So just as the story sees a future humanity communicating through humans to move our species forwards I can see my sensitivity, my vulnerability almost to stories like Interstellar is really my own self, future and past and present, communicating through other humans to me, repeating those same words, that phrase that can become so hackneyed but all the same is grounded in the only thing that matters now. Even if I have only to write this so a future self can be bolstered by it, as I was bolstered tonight by a past self. Even if our book must remain an unwritten story that keeps us moving forward without ever being told to another person. Even if I find I am repeating myself over again and again. We are going to do this.