Men were born of wonder, born to wander and become the channel for the river of time.

Let’s assume it’s the year of Christ, and there was a 15 year old boy, ignorant of Christ's existence because the oceans separated them. He had a friend who had crossed the oceans entering the land where he heard the wonders of a man claiming to be of God. A man fate hadn't been kind enough to allow him meet in person.

It might have strained your mind to imagine this in the years of Christ, but now: imagine the 15-old boy had a little white disc, same in every attribute except colour to a black disc owned by his friend. So when his friend saw Christ, finally, by a stroke of fate, he quickly rushed home in fear that his human mind couldn’t hold the memory of the lord for long, took his disc and began to write down the wonder he saw.

He wrote of Christ's eyes first, then of his voice and how it led the soul of everyone around it. He wrote of the hopeful sick and near-dead, of the disciples that matched his every step as if to take in every breath of him. Finally, he wrote of his friend, and his wish that the experience could be theirs both.

Imagine more: when he finished writing, that across the ocean, the 15-old’s white disc began to glow. He quickly picked it when he saw it and immediately, words began to appear on it. He read in his mind as the words came; narration of a man of wonders, of his eyes and the power of his voice. Of the hopeful sick and near-dead, and disciples that thirsted deeply for knowledge. And finally, a wish—an assurance that he (the 15-old) existed across the ocean, in the heart of his dear friend.

Still with the wind of assumption: the words end and with melancholic tears, the 15-old turns his head behind to face not the door but surprisingly his mother. Her face told him she had seen all of it. She had seen words strangely appear on a disc as he read them. What do you think her expression was? What was the thought racing through her mind like her heart was racing in his view? A thousand shades of shock and fear¿ Sorcery¿ Euphoria of revelation¿ the exact emotion depending on culture and her state of mind, but almost surely not a calm mind. Almost surely, it was an expression of wonder.

Yesterday, I watched a friend make a call with his phone. At my age, I must have seen a million phone calls, but yesterday was different. Wonder returned. You know, children are full of wonder—the world excites them, blesses them, and protects them. Then they pay the price of growth, becoming strangers to wonder. I digress. As I watched the call, my mind flashed, then a bit of anger. What was happening was a miracle. Centuries ago, only the most unhinged mind could have dreamt of the ability to speak in real time with someone across continents, but here I was seconds ago, viewing it like just any normal random occurrence (and indeed it was).

I know it must serve a purpose, this ability of time to rid us of wonder. But I want to dream more. I want to see more colours of the world. Diminish the infrared and ultraviolet. Excite my heart again with novelty of the new and of history. I am a man, born of wonder, fallen in time, but brave enough to seek nirvana.