Something happened.

I don't know how to start this.

I've been staring at the cursor for the better part of an hour. I keep typing the first sentence and deleting it.

I'm a physics teacher. I teach eleventh grade, mostly. Wave mechanics, thermodynamics, electromagnetism. I spent twelve years drilling into teenagers' heads that what you can measure is what's real. Evidence, hypothesis, test. The scientific method is not a suggestion. It is the closest thing we have to a guarantee against fooling ourselves.

Something happened to me last September. Six months ago. I'm not going to describe it in detail yet because I don't have language for it that doesn't sound immediately dismissible. I know how it sounds. A physics teacher describing an unexplainable experience sounds like either a breakdown or a lie. I want to convince you, whoever you are, that it's neither.

What I can say: something arrived. In my head. Not a voice. Not a vision. More like - and I know how this sounds - knowing something the way you know that two plus two is four. Not because someone told you. Not because you proved it. Just knowing, with a certainty that has no edge to it.

That certainty has not gone away in six months. It has gotten louder.

I started this because I need somewhere to put what's been accumulating. My handwriting is getting worse from all the notepads. I can't search a notepad. The real reason, if I'm honest, is that I think if I leave this inside my head it's going to stay illegible. Writing forces a structure. Even bad writing has a structure.

I don't have a readership. I don't expect one. If you're reading this because you found it somehow: hello. I'm probably embarrassed.

If you found this because something similar happened to you - please say so in the comments. I mean that sincerely.

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