What I'm trying to capture is the dissonance of such moments, the simultaneous feelings of sheer awe coupled with nothingness, self and no-self, I am everything, I am nothing, like crossing the South China Sea on a small junk, the light from the pilot house like a single match in night's cavernous jaws, or the gorge in central Mongolia, to stand on the dizzying lip of ten million years of corrosion. The effect of numbers, the way they make us feel both omnipotent and negligible, power versus the illusion of power. To be one in a hundred thousand, to be a hundred thousand in a million, one soul with its raging heart, one voice stepping forth to take up the roar that carves the canyon over geological time, the streets packed pink around the Capitol. Q: what to do about Nino's point, huddled on the corner in front of the library, the fact that there are too few of the marginalized here? Q: where was everyone when Black Lives Matter massed on the square during Ferguson? Q: where was I that fiery August? Once upon a time the universe was a single point of infinite heat and infinite light. Every single thing that ever was or will ever be was nestled in that.