I've always thought that underneath the panic and the terror, there would be something surreally, heartbreakingly beautiful about jumping off a building. But then, to rephrase Chesterton, it takes a living person to appreciate the beauty of a suicide, if there can even be such a quality to it.
As you fall and know with absolute certainty that your descent will end in death, you feel the rush of wind in your face and rest on air. The immortal dream of man realized: flight.
Today was a strange day. Thanks to the exhaustion of going and going and going for two weeks without break, I, unlike the Energizer Bunny, crashed hard. And I'm fully prepared to go from this blog post straight to bed, so it's not over yet. In part due to that exhaustion, in part due to the overwhelming rawness of the concentrated human misery that I feel in cities like this one, all day I had the sensation of falling down, down, down. Except that in the midst of my beautiful flight, a strange thing happened:
He caught me.
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