It s a lovely November (feels like late august, which is kind of scary) day here

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Hey. I was reading The Atlantic and they had an ad for the Templeton foundation. They caught you by putting the first half of numerous essays regarding whether the universe has a purpose. They are quite good. The link is http://www.templeton.org/questions/purpose/. If it just goes straight to templeton.org the first time, add the "/purpose" after that. Here is something else:

There I was, sitting on an isolated dock with only the twinkling stars and the gentle lapping of waves against the dock to keep me company. This was a very peaceful spot, one to which I had come many times before to relax, but this time was different. As days without the prickly sensation of being in love became weeks, then months, I barely noticed as the inner fire was slowly snuffed out. I told myself that I was still just as enthused with life as ever and that the malaise plaguing me was merely relative, short-lived, and soon to be overcome. It surely couldn't be the norm for someone surrounded with so many interesting people. Right? Then, in a rush, the self-constructed lie inexplicably popped, rushing all the repressed desires and thoughts to the surface with all the gusto of an underwater volcano dormant for hundreds of years.
Perhaps the catalyst for the sudden upwelling of thoughts was a call from an ex-girlfriend. We had broken up a full year prior and communicated only sparsely since then, the infrequent correspondence being hostile more often than not. That morning I received a call from her. Her first words were, "I miss you." Followed by, "I've been thinking about you a lot." It took much effort to subdue the bitter laughter wanting to explode from my chest, but I managed to be courteous, if aloof, throughout the conversation, contenting myself with a short-lived ego trip. Yet the same forces that had led her to call were also at play within my own mind. I too had not found anyone to fill the void she had used to fill with happiness.
The backdrop for this moment was the empty marina, silent except for the faint rhythmic clinking of ship's rigging against masts, the barely audible swoosh of a solitary seagull swooping in unending circles overhead and the sound of the waves and the dock making their swooning love song. Thoughts started bombarding my psyche with increasing intensity, with increasing celerity. How long had it been since I had held someone's hand and felt, from the second our fingertips touched, energy course through my body? How long had I been living in solitude. I saw many people each day, yet barely scratched their surface of their being like someone who looks to buy a car, but only gets as far as the salesman. Where were the deep conversations, gleeful laughter, or the walking away from a beautiful woman on a still night unable to subdue the smile spreading from earlobe to earlobe?
It was as if my mood somehow had the power to transform the weather, for as I released all my tensions, the faint blowing of the wind stopped, the clouds cleared completely and were replaced by one of the most gloriously calm nights I can remember. After a few hours of self-investigation I had fully come to grips with the severity of my solitude and was ready to go home, go to sleep, and wake up the next day prepared to jump the fence from spectator to player in the game of life.
I left the dock and walked back toward Memorial Union feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. Just as drug addicts must first realize that they have a problem, a weight had been lifted once I came to grips with the emptiness of my present state of affairs. As I approached the Union the glowing lampposts grew in size and a scene of recently ended revelry came into view. Cups and plates were strewn about on tables and chairs, trashcans were overflowing and beer cans were knocked over, their guts splayed out in puddles of rank brown liquid.
It wasn't this panorama bathed in eerie light that caught my eyes, however. Instead, it was the benches by the water, a hundred yards away. On every one of the benches the outline of two heads, sometimes looking at each other, sometimes gazing into the darkness were present. Even looking at them from ways away, the power of the visual was seductive and reaffirmed my desire to set forth the next day looking for love the way the 49ers sought gold.
I continued walking for a time until I heard a faint, melodic rumble coming from the Library Mall, which could have meant only one thing, a drum circle. Part of me wanted to make a detour on my way back, but the other part of me could imagine vividly the sweet, sweet embrace of my bed. In the end my curious side triumphed, and thankfully too, for I chanced upon one of the most amazing sights of my entire life. I was right about it being a drum circle, sure. But that was the least of it. This drum circle had been given a pulse, a shot of energy, a heart. The beat was brought to life by a dancer gyrating around like a top, twirling strings attached to flaming torches in each hand. The drummers played a very simple rhythm over and over, and that, in addition to the incredible artistry of the dancer, left me in a trancelike mood, spellbound and intrigued.
I ambled over to the square and saw that there was a bench near the drummers with only one person occupying it. With eyes fixed to the swirling of flames in the otherwise dim quad, I stepped over to the bench and sat down. No sooner had I sat down than the other occupant turned towards me and said in a sweet voice reminiscent of dark honey being poured out of a jar said, "Its beautiful isn't it?"
"Incredible", I replied.
"I'm Sarah", she said as she offered her hand to me.
"I'm Nate."
I've found that females rarely make conversation with strangers, especially with strange men such as me in the heart of the night, so it took me slightly by surprise when this girl reached out and initiated dialogue. I was expecting the communication to end right there.
Yet, she continued on. She asked me all about my life; what I felt passionate about, what burned me up, my funniest stories. At every turn she seemed not so much to be hearing what I said, but feeling it. It turned out that she had just transferred from a small college near her home in Minnesota, which she had gone to in order to take care of her ailing mother. She was at that time taking summer classes. Her interests were as varied as mine. She was taking biology, psychology, and painting and claimed that her driving ambition was "to save the world." As we continued talking the background fell away and she became larger than life, almost like what happens on Hollywood sets, designed as they are to put the actor front and center.
As we together dug deeper, I became progressively in a state of consternation, for this was, at the time, the person in my life who had touched me the most in the least amount of time. She was what I would have drawn up as ideal if I had been a witch in the movie Practical Magic. She was funny. She was smart. She was passionate. She was almost invisible.
Due to the blazing light behind her and relative darkness of the quad, I could never see her face, but instead just an outline that revealed little; light brown hair and proportional features. Perhaps my inability to see her wasn't a catch at all, but instead part of her allure, integral to my sudden reverence.
An hour passed by in what seemed like the amount of time it takes for you to decide on oranges or apples at the supermarket. I learned that she had been an Olympic quality swimmer in high school until knee problems ended her career and she showed me, much to my mock disgust, how she could squish her kneecap around in its socket.
The drums continued to pound in their unending cycle and a rotation of daring fire dancers took turns keeping the intimate gathering mesmerized. The thought came to me that maybe, just maybe, she was a sign from a greater power, the answer to my yearning and echo of my internal desires. I did not have her phone number, but that wasn't even
a pertinent, seeing as we had passed that integral point in conversation about an hour prior.
I was just about to ask her what she was going to do the rest of the night, thinking quite assuredly that it would be spent with me, when a friend of mine came up to the assemblage on her bike. After a second of pondering whether I wanted to make my presence known, I decided it would be best to do so. I got up and strutted over to her. She was taken in with the spectacle as well. I looked back at Sarah, sitting alone on the bench once again, hoping that from my new vantage point I would be able to see her clearer. Only an outline returned my gaze. The outline waved its hand ever so gently at me seemingly to say "I'm still here. Take your time... but come back soon. It's lonelier without you sitting next to me."
"Damn, must be divine providence", I marveled, shaking my head lightly.
"Where are you coming from?" I asked my friend, wanting more than anything to finish the niceties and returned to the bench.
"The library."
"This late?"
"Yep. I was meeting with Hari."
"Isn't this amazing?" I said as I gestured at the dancing.
"Yeah, it is. I can't believe we're going to be in India in less than a month. That's so crazy." She said.
"I know. When you say that, I get this weird feeling right here", I
pointed to my chest. "I think it's a mix of every important emotion; fear, anxiety, anticipation, happiness."
"Ok, gotta go" I said curtly, swinging my body back around in the direction of Sarah.
But NO, she was gone. I spun around violently, and then, to my horror, I saw the back of her shirt disappear between the swinging bus doors a hundred yards away. She was gone.

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