On Lightning

Nature ⋂ Supercars = {Passion}

Lightning brewing

I’ve never seen lightning strike, but I imagine it to be a stunning event, lighting the forest with incandescent rage, splitting a tree asunder and leaving a hungry fire.

I’ve never seen lightning strike, but I have played a piece of piano music to the best of my ability. The moments where I forget my fingers and feel the music (the strike), the burning afterglow of a job well done, that connection to the melody (the smouldering forest fire).

I’ve never seen lightning strike, but I have planted a seed. I have nurtured the sapling and witnessed it finally quicken, finally settle into harmony with its surroundings and leap into the sky. I like to imagine that that justified rightness, that “I made the right choice” feeling is just like a lightning strike, and the fire is what kindles that dream of thousand future plantings.

Perhaps I have seen lightning strike after all. The sudden bolt of conviction and belief that imparts a continued smouldering passion; perhaps that is the line that separates a hobby from a life’s work.

Perhaps that feeling is universal, girdling all passions: permaculturalists to luxury handbag collectors, hectare food foresters to city dwellers, plant breeders to video gamers, fermentation fans to all-you-can-eat food challengers.

Perhaps we’ve all just caught lightning in different ways but have the same type of burning passion underneath.

If only we can just transfer the subject of passions: imagine the geniuses behind supercars lining up to build super engines of carbon sequestration.