A Broken Twig and Our Broken World

Reader Contribution by Steven Mcfadden
Published on May 13, 2019
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One sultry September about four decades ago, after having been prepared for the quest by true and knowledgeable friends, I sat on a New Hampshire mountaintop for four days and four nights.

Setting out on this first, formal quest, I held wild hopes for metaphysical marvels: clouds parting, maybe, angel voices, maybe, messengers arriving from celestial realms to deliver golden scrolls of wisdom, maybe. Make it so! Something spectacular!

But nothing mysterious or majestic happened at all. As far as I could tell, over those four sunsets and sunrises there was not as much as a quirk in the quantum field. Not that first year.

But that first time something key did unfold. After the fourth night of sleeping under the stars, during the fourth day as the Sun beat down upon me and as I awaited the arrival of my compatriots to escort me down from the mountain, I began fiddling with a twig. I was using my fingernail to peel the bark off. Idly passing time. Waiting. Peeling. But then the twig came apart. It just cracked in my hand with a soft, but resonant snap.

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