I sometimes remember the future very clearly.
That notion violates everything we think we know about the world. We remember the past. We imagine the future. Everybody knows that.
But, still. Something in my heart remembers the future — and the truth of that future is often more clear to me — more real — than my memories of the past.
There are two parts of me and it’s hard to say which is the real me. One part of me has his feet firmly planted in the material reality around me. The other part sees and feels and experiences something beyond all that — but it’s vague and murky, as though I’m seeing it through a heavy fog.
The first part of me is grounded in “common sense” and in the material reality which we grow up learning about. But the second part of me — the part of me which consistently sees the woman and our home and my children — is grounded somewhere between spooky mysticism and the mysteries of quantum mechanics.
“Why do we remember the past, but not the future?” physicist Stephen Hawking once asked.
Quantum mechanics suggests that the future already exists. Common sense says that’s nonsense. My heart can’t argue about physics, but I long for a future I’ve already seen.
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