Having answered the first and second questions, the third and last question remains: how. How do I explain the inexplicable? How do I describe the indescribable? How do I share the unsharable? This may at first glance appear to be just a superficial, craft, or logistical question, but that assumption would be far from correct. The very question about how is, in fact, the most difficult question of the three. There are several reasons for this that I believe are intrinsic to the sharing of anomalous experiences.

Having already answered the first question of should, I come to the second question regarding the sharing of anomalous experiences, which is why, and the desire behind such action. At its core, motivation here rests on three drivers: 1.) need, 2.) want, and 3.) both¹. And my exploration of such motivations in this particular case is less about establishing the correct one(s)², whether by social convention, popularity, or arbitrary standard. Behind most human decision is motive, since it is the why that drives our decisions to share or withhold. It is far easier to simply react thoughtlessly to an event, however uncanny, than it is to reason one’s own reasons for acting, and questioning the underlying drivers beneath them.

When one begins contemplating whether to share their anomalous experiences publicly, there are a number of questions it is wise to ask and answer prior to sharing. The first question is, of course, Should I? And there is no right answer to this question, as it is deeply personal and private for each person. But to those who are enthusiastic to open up and share, I strongly suggest caution and patience, for there are risks in such sharing that may not be immediately obvious, especially if blinded by the desire to reach outside of oneself in an attempt to find validation, understanding, or peace of mind.

What is love? What are its ingredients? What is its formula for success? These are questions that have inspired scholars and philosophers alike, motivating some of the greatest human creative achievements and masterpieces, from Dante to Shakespeare, from Cohen to Cave. My contribution here is only a tiny contemplation, one among an endless line of such contemplations, from the start to the end of humanity — a drop of rain in the wandering river of life.

I find that fatigue and cynicism seem to go hand in hand. They appear as twins, showing up together when you least expect them, though their appearance isn’t necessarily surprising, but always unwelcome.

In one of the birds’ speeches from The Conference of the Birds, an excuse is offered for not undertaking the journey to the Simorgh, where the bird highlighted in the passage below is not wrong about rubies — about the life therein — but wrong about his reason for stopping there.

In my time and place on Earth, people still struggle with immoral and unethical reasoning at both the individual and structural levels of our civilization. We see it in the banal administration of our public institutions, the business ontology¹ of modern organizations, and the bias of large, wealthy commercial interests. And the result is unnecessary and avoidable suffering.

I believe people often talk too much and say very little. I see it in the small, subtle things. The constant circling without connecting. Answers orphaned of questions. Meaning divorced from cause. Motivations kept hidden like bandaged scars.

I write, as all others have done who have taken pen in hand, because there are things within me that compel release. Consigning them to paper as one commits dream to memory — or love to marrow and soul. I do this despite knowing the inadequacies of my words and that their failure is in itself ceremony.

It's a quarter past eight and I am seated in an airport lounge, not by habit but by happenstance. To my right a man has spread his possessions across the table as though it were his home office. His bag stands open. His laptop — new, and expensive by the look of it — rests on the tabletop among a pair of headphones, an iPad, and other practical things arranged in plain sight. Then he rises, without ceremony, and casually walks away.