The obviousness of summer has given way to the shortest of days, and deep snow pushes us inward. We have everything we need here, time especially.
I'm listening to the Choir of Kings College at Cambridge on Pandora Radio and Google-Earthing the pyramids of Egypt for no particular reason, flying slowly over the Nile Delta, punching up random Panoraimo photographs along the way. Further on I could probably locate the very spot in thick jungle where Stanley found Livingstone after the latter's desperate attempt to end the slave trade and find the source of the Nile. Instead, I research accommodations on the Caribbean island of Dominica, Facebooking with old friend Irvince Auguiste, chief of the Carib Indians.
Irvince asks me how my mum is doing, as though he is sitting across the table from us. How is this ever going to get old, the way the Intertubes are linking all of humanity on an even field of information—both trivial and profound?
Getting snowed in is not what it used to be. My consort/computer specialist, still in her slippers, is working on piping diagrams for a geothermal power plant in Malaysia or Turkey at the kitchen table. She asks how long it will take Mozart to morph into the Rolling Stones on Pandora Radio, that computer genie music-bot programmed to divine our musical tastes.
Pandora gets it right most of the time, but you have to keep her honest. Giving her a thumbs-up or thumbs-down from time to time keeps her on track. She doesn't understand how the composer Alan Hovhaness affects us human beings. His music can change the humdrum into high drama; a simple walk through town becomes a sublime exploration of the marvels of civilization.
Outside, the snow keeps piling up. Nothing to do but surf. I learn that 1.5 billion people saw the red full moon on the solstice lunar eclipse while we Eskimo-danced on the porch to stay warm, taking nothing for granted, not the warmth or the food or the friendship. With another click I learn that I am rich as a king. Even with my meager earnings, I am still in the top 3 percent of wage earners in this crowded world. The donations to Action Against Hunger and NPR will be made by text message.
Not that I need religion to be charitable. The coming of a Messiah gives us a good reason to be good, but it didn't all begin with Jesus Christ. I learn from an old essay by Alexander Pope that Isaiah—who prophesied the coming of the Messiah, who said "the lion will lay down with the lamb," and people will pound "swords into plowshares"—borrowed heavily from a poem by the Greek poet Virgil. Nothing new under the sun, as the Bible says.
Despite the rise of global pop culture and the shrill news streams on the wire, what matters around here is still most simple. As another poet, Rumi, once said, "The only real news here is that there is no news at all."
How long will it take in this crazy, science-fiction world to realize we are all speaking the same language, seeking the same peace?
Tony Evans is a reporter for the Idaho Mountain Express
