I'm standing inside the Hayden Planetarium in The American Museum of Natural History inside Central Park. The lights dim inside the giant dome, soft music begins to swell and beneath me, I watch as slowly our world falls away beneath our feet.
It becomes a dinner plate, a tennis ball, a penny, before disappearing completely, and constellations and galaxies tear past us at the speed of light. One hundred thousand, one million, one billion light years in the blink of an eye.
Panning out to the immeasurable expanse, that haunting, harrowing reminder settles within each person in that dome. It's equally as funny as depressing, really, how we can fill ourselves with so many menial distractions to avoid thinking about the fact that we are conscious self-aware blips hurtling through perpetual nothingness on a big hot rock with no explanation or reason as to why.
Once we leave the theater, we walk through a ginormous spiral platform which leads us through the 13 billion years of our universe since The Big Bang. And at the final step, one singular human hair is encased in plastic.
The width of that single hair, representing the recorded era that humans have existed on planet Earth.
When put in comparison like that, the vast multi-story spiral platform against that single human hair, stirred sentiments that have existed within in me since I can remember, but over the years have gotten buried, unearthed and reburied periodically, depending on the conditions, conversations and catalysts available.
"I can't tell them. There's no way I can explain it and write it all down without them instantly thinking I've completely lost it, fearing me, or loathing me entirely." I told him later that evening.
"Then why were you given the capacity to think it and to write it, if you weren't supposed to say it?" He replied.
I had no answer.
This is gonna be big.
This is gonna be dark and weird and scary and fucked up, but it's also motherfucking powerful and fundamental and so fucking necessary to think about.
I don't know how or where to say it, but I just know I gotta.
Do you ever get that feeling, like this indescribable energy or almost inhuman vibe that you should do something? Or that you shouldn't do something?
Why do we grasp the air with our fingers or hold our hands up in front of us and gesticulate from our chests when we struggle to explain something?
I have never been religious because my mindset counteracts it, but the faith in the beliefs that I hold true are so earth-shatteringly powerful it scares me sometimes. It goes beyond belief, and it feels like knowledge to me.
One of those beliefs - fuck it - truths, is that humans never came from Earth. I'll be damned if anyone can look at that singular human hair and say that the Earth was just waiting for us to arrive.
And the other is that we are a juncture, a breakthrough point in the trajectory of human evolution. Whether or not it is immediately obvious, human history is repeating itself and we are once again falling into tribes. And, from my perspective anyway, two distinctly different and contrasting tribes.
I've said this from my first ever blog post - I called them silver and grey. But under any name, the philosophy is the same. The archaic thinkers, the convoluted minds focused on old money and outdated paradigms. Then there are the fertile minds, indigo children, hippies, free spirits laughably dismissed and demonised for being 'out there' or trying to 'stick it to the man'.
The world was never ready for that way of thinking, but now it is, because of one distinct catalyst.
Online communities and cyber-tribes are evident all across the web, from social networks to blogging to which celebrities we follow.
And while I try and formulate the words for these positively bombastic thoughts and beliefs and truths that are weaving their way into my brain from some divine inspiration, I feel we must ask ourselves:
What will we do with this interconnection of global unity?