Unless We Get Out of the Way.

There is probably a sensible explanation, but this really happened, and for a minute my mind jumped into the wildest of speculations.

I was nearing the end of Marlon James' fabulous novel "A Brief History of Seven Killings," a book so well-written, so all-consuming, so "masterful," that I didn't really want it to end. I was slowing down, reading very carefully, mindfully, savoring every page, every word. I was reading in bed, late in the evening.

I turned to page 670 and I read this line at the top of the page: "... is maybe we must die. That whatever we start, can't finish unless we get out of the way."

I finished the sentence and at that precise moment my reading light went out. It just blinked out and died. I was engulfed in total darkness, I was in bed, propped up with pillows, the book cradled in my arms. Total darkness.  Those words echoing in my head. Yes, "get out of the way." I was disappeared, erased in the blink of an eye, dispersed into the deep, surrounding darkness.

It was a stunning moment. Caught me up short. I thought to myself, "Hah, that is one powerful book!" I fussed with the reading lamp in the darkness, I jiggled it, turned it on and off, maybe a loose wire, the light blinked back on.

Message received.

I finished the book. Brilliant. Loved it. A powerful experience. Secret mojo. Darkness and light. I got out of the way. Life-affirming.

The a.m. soundtrack - John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme."  (1965). A masterpiece. A towering achievement. Hard to write about this one. Spiritual. Breath-taking. A song-suite. Coltrane conjures, captivates, enchants. His saxophone is a force of nature. So much emotion and beauty, and fire and passion. Must be experienced. Intense, thrilling, soothing, healing. The finest.