I respect my best friend. If only for the simple fact he’s never once griped about the grind of being God. Yamin, he’s the guy who takes on the most avant-garde, most scandalous gigs in Austin’s media scene. After those spontaneous combustion mortarboards on Graduation Day that fired up when thrown all over the city, I’d have invented self-igniting court summons, if I were him. But Yamin, bless his heart, dutifully signed the incoming summons. And in his downtime? He cooked up crazy chess. The public Kasparov vs. PC match in Austin was set for the night of June 22nd into 23rd, at Waterloo Park. Dallas’ turn was July 20th, Chess Day, at Klyde Warren Park.

Walking across the outdoor area, I noticed the hail had stopped. Things got noticeably brighter. Hippies were chilling out there, doing their hippie thing. Alewitz, too. He was giving Rachel an interview, explaining how the board should have been left with 31 pieces, because his next insane performance was planned for the 31st of July. He didn't buy that it was some technical screw-up. Right, Mikie knows best, I decided, and went off to order some soul-caressing tea.

Gibstein was still in his chair, tossing phrases back and forth with the guy next to him. The chair was twisted so bad, the poor dude had to pretzel his spine, clinging to the chair back and some heating pipe. They were talking about an upcoming concert at the Museum. Not the concert itself, really, but the musician’s fame. Gibstein’s buddy insisted:

“Okay, so the average Austiner doesn’t know him. But Bono knows him!”

“Bono’s an Irishman, for crying out loud!” Aaron snapped, “Who else can drink tea with the Tsar, sing songs with Yuri Shevchuk, and praise Gorbachev…”

I sank onto the couch and took a swig of tea. Rachel materialized. She’d ordered an Americano and slid over, fiddling with her voice recorder.

“And who’s gonna drink L'chaim with me now?” I asked her.

“You didn’t warn me this tea had wine in it. I’m working, you know.”

“Relax. It’s fine. There’s no alcohol in the Higher World, after all.”

“Glennie, everyone else is somewhere, but you’re in the Higher World,” Aaron jabbed again.

“And I’m thrilled, Gibstein, to tell you, straight from there,” I took the bait, “What is L'chaim?”

In response, I heard the click of a camera shutter. I pulled out my pocket Shamati and read:

“When they say, ‘L'chaim’ (translated as ‘To Life!’), they mean a Higher Life.”

“I don’t get it,” Rachel said, annoyed. “How can you be so obsessed with these exhibitions, economics, and the Higher World, all at once? It just doesn’t connect!”

“It doesn’t connect because the Higher World can’t be seen from the lower one. These guys, for example, they’re scurrying around, brilliant people—Kasparov, and Sanders. And opposite them, all those Our Guys and Your Guys… so many of them. Trying to carve out a place in the sun amid the chaos. And they don't get that you can’t earn it. Our world’s gone to hell. No solution for economic problems, no solution for conflicts, nothing to feed the poor, even when there’s plenty of food. Nothing, because all the answers are a step above. Read Einstein. Down here? Just a rat race. You know what that race is?”

“But besides rats, there are normal people!”

“Sure, but that’s not the point. The rat race is the fight for status at the expense of public well-being and personal happiness. It’s aimless, infinite. All this competition does is raise the price of mistakes and widen the gap between what you want and what you get. The whole damn point remains unclear.”

“Yeah, you’re right about the point.”

“And besides the point, there’s nothing else to figure out. The point of this rat race is to despair from it, roughly speaking. You think Yamin gets why he’s doing all his miracles? I’ve talked to him about it a lot. He’s most afraid of thinking about meaning in life.”

“But he’s not going to despair anytime soon. Not with his fame, his scandalous streak…”

“Precisely the scandalous streak will leave him empty. Honestly, it’s all like dancing on the Titanic. We’re doing this because, well, you gotta do something!”

“So, he’s gonna come running to you, demanding an explanation for the meaning of life?”

“I’m no information desk. He’ll uncover the meaning himself, when he rises above his rat race. But he needs to know where to rise to. The Higher World isn't above the clouds or in another universe. It’s just a different way for people to connect. It’s here, right between us,” (Rachel instinctively glanced at my side). “But it’s hidden because all we know how to do is race to a finish line that doesn’t exist. That’s why I’m telling you about online and the abuse of wisdom. Come on, it’s starting.”