Garrett Kennedy: Late night visions and the search for answers

Example 1: It must be sometime around 2 a.m. as we cruise through Valley Forge Park, guided by my backseat directions.

Suddenly I'm flung forward as I feel the seat belt pull to its maximum extension and my face bounces off the seat in front of me. Above the dinning ring of squealing breaks, I can hear the slightly higher pitched scream of the driver. Her face is ashen and she just keeps saying, "Do you see that?"

It takes me a second to look around, and then over my right shoulder I see what she's screaming about -- a Revolutionary War soldier is standing by the edge of the covered bridge that we just drove through, brandishing a saber and peering into the water some ten feet below.

You see, Valley Forge dates back to the American Revolution where it was a camp during one of the hardest winters. A lot of soldiers died from exposure to the elements in that park.

And maybe it's a hallucination, or maybe it's one of the scene re-enactors standing there in full garb at two in the morning staring over the edge of the park's covered bridge. And maybe it's something more, something a little bit deeper.

But when it started to turn around to face us, my friend shouted, "Drive!" and I muttered something like "Get the fuck out of here," and we floored it, and that was the last I saw of the soldier.

Example 2: It's late, around 4:30 a.m.

For once I actually have a legitimate reason for staying up at this hour when the majority of Philadelphia's population is closer to waking up than going to bed. It's time for the Leonids, that annual meteor shower that this year is supposed to be the best of the century.

Philadelphia isn't really the best stargazing area, and neither are its suburbs. That putrid orangish-purple light that seeps from the city manages to block out every possible star. The closest viable option at this hour for any meteor viewing seems to be Fairmount Park.

Hop in the car, hit the gas, get going to the park.

Midway, the argument ensues -- the ever-present male battle over direction supremacy.

"Why are you telling me to go this way?"

"It's faster."

"What are you talking about?"

"Take a left here."

"What, left here... at George Clinton?"

And ambling on the corner of 36th and Chestnut at 4:30 a.m. was George Clinton, P-Funk All-star and master of all that is funky, dressed in some velour-looking suit, his eyes at the same time worn and inextinguishable with the fire that fueled the man for so long still burning despite the clearly tired and haggard gaze.

Ken Kesey once said, "The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer." Kesey is stating the need for the unknown; the volatile and unpredictable elements of life are what keep the world turning and make life interesting. It is the notion of the unexpected, that strange twist of fate that may not make a whole lot of sense and may seem purely random, out-of-nowhere, inexplicable, but upon which life thrives. It is the idea that life happens, and it can be mysterious and strange and generally unpredictable and maybe a bit scary and dangerous, but this is not a bad thing.

I suppose what brought the above examples to mind is that these were random occurrences that have no clear cut answer, and to an extent, this is why they've left their marks. Did I see a hobo in a Revolutionary War uniform with a sword, or was this something more, maybe a little deeper? I may have my hunches, but I'll probably never have an answer. And George Clinton? Well, I think it was him. I checked his tour schedule and everything, and he was in Philly around then. But at the same time, there is always that bit of mystery that may never be solvable.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that it's very easy to get set into the search for answers. By the very fact that we attend a university, that we are in an academic setting, we are constantly in the presence of this search with some type of answer as the ultimate goal. Maybe we need to relish the mysteries a bit more and not be so quick to attempt to remove the curtain.

A mystery like seeing George Clinton standing on that corner as I randomly turned onto 36th Street at an hour that I wouldn't generally be up at on a Monday night as I searched for the fastest way to see a once-in-a-century occurrence on a late- night whim.

Garret Kennedy is a senior Anthropology major from Wayne, Pa.

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