Just a few minutes ago, my partner Sam and I parked our Crown Vic at the clubhouse and filled out the paperwork for our COPS patrol. Another quiet night in the ‘hood. He’s an elderly gent, a retired Nigerian-born accountant who has lived most of his life in the USA.

I’ve been turning him on to the local Classic Rock FM station on our prowler’s righteous sound system and to the wonders of Rock and Roll. He had never really listened to it before, and he is fascinated by its textures and complexity. I really think he’s become quite a fan.

We discussed the shooting in Sanford, and could not come up with a plausible scenario for it. A kid hurrying back from the 7-11 with snacks, trying to make the 3rd quarter of the game, doesn’t just assault a complete stranger. We sometimes spot “suspicious characters” (translation: young black males) on our patrols, and we deal with them by surreptitiously monitoring their progress. We know the maze of streets by heart. If they looked like they were casing the joint, we’d call the sheriff, but so far we haven’t felt the need to. Sometimes people just like to walk, bike or rollerblade through our neighborhood because there is no through traffic. We’re glad we don’t carry guns and we wear uniforms.

Walking home after our patrol, it is almost completely dark. The sky is crystal clear, the weather cool, and Jupiter is low in the west, following the sun towards the horizon.

Venus, the brightest thing in the sky, is high in the sky, between Aldebaran and Capella, and ruddy Mars almost overhead just a free degrees from Regulus. It is near opposition, and its motion relative to the stars in Leo is quite noticeable from night to night.

And if you follow the curve of the Dipper’s handle, it will lead you through Arcturus in the Charioteer then down further to the Virgin in the southeast. Next to Spica, low near the eastern horizon, is a dull yellow interloper: Mighty Saturn.

The four planets trace a great circle across the entire dome of the sky, the plane of the solar system turning ponderously before my eyes, the intricate clockwork layed out for my amusement and wonder.

I pick up the mail as I go in the house. My paperwork from Social Security just came in, enrolling me in Medicare. I’ll turn 65 in August.
I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Multiple simultaneous realities, and just the tip of the iceberg; there are an infinity of them, at different scales of space and time and complexity. All are different, all are interconnected, all have varying degrees of importance to me, depending on how I choose to see them and think of them. I can prioritize them at my discretion.

I am at the very center of an infinity of universes, all equally valid and equally real, and all exist solely in my consciousness, each modeled and simulated so I can comprehend them. I know what the planets are, and they exist whether I know about them or not, but what they mean, like the world of rock music or the subtleties of the stand your ground law, or the ponderous machinery of Social Security, or the kindly black dude with the impenetrable accent who is starting to develop a taste for Zeppelin and Floyd–we are all universes, and they all come together as patterns of dancing energy coded in my brain.

All these things, and many others are real, separate but equal, and all happening at the same time. And I’m right in the middle of them all, free to pick and choose, and wonder at all the other things in between the dimensions I’m missing.

Life is a fucking trip.