Conversations For Transformation: Essays Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

Conversations For Transformation

Essays By Laurence Platt

Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More


Here Again

St Helena High School Quadrangle, St Helena, California, USA

April 7, 2007



I am indebted to my sons Christian Laurence Platt and Joshua Nelson Platt who inspired this conversation.



I'm here again.

Once I'd figured out there's nothing better to do than be together, everything shifted. All the effort went out of it. Since we're already together, there's nothing to do to be together. I marvel and respect how you, so innocent, so sweet, get that so profoundly, so easily. I give you my presence. That's my job. Since I'm present, my job's done. Now we celebrate. Look. I'm here. It doesn't matter if you see  me here or not. I'm here.

Seems like I'm always here.

It's time to make dinner. I prepare a simple yet healthy salad, some light meat, and an ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. I sit in a comfortable chair eating, watching six deer grazing nearby. They've looked me over. They've given me the OK to sit here and dine with them. We're sharing the evening meal together.

I was here last week. I'm here again now.

I like driving. I like the way I'm engaged fully, involved on all levels: physical, mental, and in terms of anticipating where I'm going and in terms of enjoying the journey getting there, emotional and spiritual. I pull into a gas station, briefly muttering to myself a useless critique of the unfairness  of rising gasoline prices. Standing quietly, I fill the tank watching the dials tell me I'm getting less for more.

I'm here again. Seems like I'm always here.

Gasping in my dream I wake myself up. It takes a moment to realize I am  awake - the dream so real makes waking seem like dreaming. A bedside clock tells me it's half past very late. In the dark your smile is still warm on my heart. Tears come as I realize I've left you behind again in the dream world. I'm so totally in love with you I can't stand being without you.

I was here yesterday. I'm here again now. Seems like it's always now. Seems like I'm always here.

Taking a deep breath I submerge immediately in the pool, swimming dolphin style underwater, enjoying the sudden silence, watching the oxygen needed  reflex become more and more urgent. When I can't remain submerged one second longer I break the surface almost clear across the pool, lazily scooping handfuls of water out of the way, enjoying stretching the wings'  muscles between my shoulder blades.

I'm here again. Seems like I'm always here.

Total peace and certainty coming when we're together isn't the result  of loving you: it is  loving you. There's no other place to be. There's nothing else to want. This satisfies all desires. It's its own reward. There's no language to explain it. There's no point in justifying it. It's just plain I Love You  with nothing else added. There's no path  to this point. If there were  a path to this point, it would be giving up all paths.

I was here last week. I'm here again now.

The terraced valley in front of me, the bubbling brook lazily meandering through rockpools behind me, the mass of yellow mustard beneath my feet, the azure and teal and flaming orange skies above me show up, like a movie on a screen, against the background of my being. It's everywhere. So, for it to show up against the background of my being, am I.

Seems like I'm always here.

A rising sun splits open the night and the dawn pours in. Quail and wild geese shriek, calling me "Won't you come out to play?". I drag on sweatpants, grab a handful of carrots and walk barefoot outside the cottage, blinking in the fresh morning air, inhaling its sweetness. Bacchus the horse waits expectantly for me, his head leaning over the paling fence, condensed breath from his nostrils emphasizing his anticipation. I feed him carrots, stroking the hard bridge between his eyes, waiting for the day.

I'm here again.



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