Array

White Bunny toy on the back wiper of a car, license plate 1RAG 92

This morning I was driving Lera to the center again. The new morning was a continuation of the two mornings before it.

I asked what composer we should invite to travel with us. Lera said Bach. She confirmed the continuation — last trip was Bach chosen by me and Lera was grateful that I am driving her every morning being a director of the center. Brilliant piano player and a teacher in her past, Lera stayed being a teacher that listens into the students relationship with music.

I found organ music by Bach on YouTube. The sounds entered all together. “Array” — I thought in English, skipping the article, as it was Russian.

Nothing stood alone. Everything moved as a transforming structure. I thought of the word organ and recognized the instrument as a living organ, resonating with our bodies.

Lera’s hands were still.

I remembered how I once told Lera that Mozart speaks in voices — that I hear spoken language in his music, saying something to me. In Bach I felt differently: the voice was my own, as if it were I who spoke. I shared this with Lera as a revelation that had just come to me.

Lera was not surprised. She shared hers: Mozart, I recognize. Bach surprises me every time.

And Lera surprised me.

And then another unexpected, almost mystical thing happened. A car appeared directly in front of ours, with a white Bunny toy stuck by the back wiper. White Bunny, right there on the car before me — taking the back seat, looking at me, leading me forward. Aya, a being of Wondereal, white Bunny, arrays whisperer, taking the lead of my car.

I forgot about Lera. And it seemed Lera forgot about me. Our presence for each other existed in the Wondereal of internal organs playing Bach.

The center hired an additional driver; my help was no longer needed to bring Lera in the morning. On the way back from work I listen to Bach, church bells, Mozart’s Requiem. I keep moving through the transforming Array of me.

I read the license plate from the photo I took with Aya. I read it in APL, from right to left.

1RAG 92

2 — yes, two of us, Lera and me, our dialogues and shared field for two.

9g — the letters we cannot draw. The constant that pulls all things and still cannot be measured the same way twice. What leads is never fixed. What we see most, we stop seeing.

AR — AR-RA-Y — the exchange between me in the car and Aya, who always suggests a possible reverse of everything, by the name she is.

1 — the drive transformed to a singular me in my car, sitting back, moving forward.

The license plate was counting me down from the shared drive to the solitary one. The big G — and a field of altered perception in the human mind, grown too familiar with symbols. The big G of gravity and divinity at once. )