Hearts of Space

I was recently directed to a podcast called RadioLab. It is delightful, stimulating, and often bittersweet. I have yet to encounter an episode that didn't thrill me in some fashion. For those interested in my discipline of choice, Statistics, you could do far worse as an introduction to the field than to listen to Radiolab's episode entitled Stochasticity.

But this is cursory to the impetus for me to dust off the old blog and share something with the internets. When I was looking through different podcasts the idea suddenly came upon me to look for a radio program I used to listen to in high school. This program came on MPR every Sunday night around 8 or 9 o'clock and featured esoteric, new-agey, ethereal music. I would catch it whenever I could and was always entranced by the exotic sounds that would drift through speakers. The show was Hearts of Space and the host of the show would always end each episode by saying "Safe journey, Spacefans, wherever you are."

Hearts of Space was special to me for several reasons, not the least of which was I often shared the experience with my dear friend, Fast Eddie. Additionally, back then I didn't spend a lot of time listening to music. I mean, music was a pretty consistent backdrop to most of my activities, but I rarely listened to music for the sake of the music itself. HoS was different. When 9:00 rolled around, I would turn up the music, darken the room, and give myself to the music. This was long before my experiments with psychotropics, and I think this music sent me into something of an altered state. 

I remember one night in particular. I came home late from somewhere and since Mom was away for the weekend and Brother was at college, I had the house to myself. I realized that HoS had already started so I went upstairs, turned on the stereo in the living room, and dialed in to MPR. The sound was a lone soprano voice over a barely audible orchestra. It was something medieval, something dark and lovely. I turned off the lights, lay on the couch, and immediately I was taken somewhere, some mist shrouded castle in Ireland where a spectre drifting through the halls sung her tale of loneliness. I could feel the damp, cold fog. I could see the pale half-moon languishing as the wisps of clouds grew denser. I could hear past her foreign tongue to the tale she wove with every crystalline note. 

The episode ended, and like a doctor helping the recently anesthetized to their feet the host gently released us back into reality with his reassuring "Safe journey, Spacefans, wherever you are."

And so I'm digging through all the old shows, looking for that specific episode. I wonder if I'll find it. Sometimes I feel like I should stop looking. Maybe the narrative above is more than pure recollection. Maybe it's some amalgam of memory and desire. Whatever the case, I'm glad I can rediscover this show. It feels good. It feels like two old friends visiting for the weekend. Playing frisbee and boardgames and reminiscing. It is comforting beyond expression.

Safe Journeys.