I was raised to believe in God. For a long time I did, and then I didn’t, and then I did again. Now? I think the question of God is irrelevant. I am more interested in theories like serendipity and synchronicity.

When I was in elementary school, we took a field trip to the zoo. There were big black bears growling in a cage. These bears frightened some of the children. The frightened children moved their backs against the brick wall opposite the cage, back away from what their instincts told them was a threat. Other children, embolden by the separation of bars, hurled insults and pennies at the animals. I stood still and expressionless, trying desperately to fight the urge to snatch the keys from the belt of our tour guide and unlock the cage door. It was not so much a desire to free the animals as it was an insatiable curiosity to see how a crowd would behave if confronted with a snarling beast and no bars to protect them. At that very moment, as I struggled with my own impulse, our pimply-faced tour guide leaned over to admit to our teacher that a mistake had recently been made. The person in charge of cleaning the bear cage had accidentally left the door unlocked overnight. The zookeepers thought it quite a blessing that the bears, left to their own devices for over 12 hours, had never wandered outside of their own imprisonment. I heard the tour guide tell all of this to our teacher and suddenly I was all four feet of pigtails and pasty Irish skin trying to hide my tears. I stood in front of that bear cage, this awkward little girl, and I cried. When my teacher saw my distress, she leaned down to ask what was wrong. I could not find the words to explain it.

For the past two weeks, I have been thinking about that trip to the zoo. I was even thinking about it the day that I went to my local library and checked out The Maytrees by Annie Dillard. Synchronicity? Dillard introduced me to Casper Hauser. Up until last week, Hauser was as unfamiliar to me as the walls of the dark cage he was raised in. All those years being raised with nothing but shadow, his own unfettered mind, a cot, and a wooden horse. At 17, Hauser was abruptly released into the streets of Germany by his unknown captors. He purportedly carried nothing but a piece of paper inscribed with his name. Here is the part that amazes me. Even after being imprisoned for over 17 years, Hauser did not show any anger towards his captors. Only once did he show any negative emotion regarding what happened to him. His only negative response occurred after he witnessed his very first smattering of stars. His chest heaved with the knowledge of depravation. He was quoted as saying, “My captors should be jailed for a few days for withholding the sky.” I may be lazy about my belief in God, but I am certain about my faith in Annie Dillard’s version of Casper Hauser.

Did you ever see the movie Serendipity with Jon Cusak? Okay. I know it appears that I am changing gears here, but stay with me.  I think everything may be connected. I think, but I am not sure. Anyway, the movie is a big pile of crap. The movie confuses serendipity with fate, just so it can trot out the big soulmate cliche and entertain a bunch of teenage girls and housewives who need to believe that it is there destiny to be loved like movie stars. This is not serendipity. Serendipity is when you discover something necessary while on a quest for something else. The point is that you have to be searching for something in order for serendipity to happen. I am not sure if finding Casper Hauser in the same week I tried to process my feelings about that trip to the zoo is serendipity or synchronicity. Hell. Maybe it is God. If so, I imagine he is laughing.

The evening of that day my elementary school class went to the zoo, I stretched myself out on my small bed. I stared at the ceiling. I practiced the art of revision. I was a writer even then. I was only little and lacking all the necessary tools, but gifted with a reckless imagination. I envisioned my field trip much differently than the way it had been. I pictured it the way I would have liked it to be. In my re-telling, I do get my small hands around the zoo-keeper’s keys. I unlock the heavy cage door before anyone can stop me. The biggest of the black bears lumbers out, growling, he moves towards us. Children and adults scream and scatter. In the center of all this confusion, I stand firm. I throw my head back like God. I laugh too. I laugh like a crooked finger pointing directly at the stars.

I know some of you clicked on over because I told you that this post was about you. It is okay. Have you ever stood in front of a mirror searching your own reflection for such a long time that you become all distorted, like a cubist painting, a mere abstraction, a metaphor instead of an actually person? Yeah. Me too.