Meditation on Lightning, with Lichtenberg Figures

At least twice in the recent past, the man 
         I love said he felt like he'd just been 
                   struck by lightning; both times, he walked 
in the door, holding a piece of paper 
         with bad news. Approximately 90% of people 
                   struck by lightning survive. The first time
was a job loss no one saw coming. The second,
         a medical diagnosis— and we still have no 
                   idea how it will play out. And I don't know 
anyone actually struck by lightning, whether 
         or not they survived. I used to wonder, if you
                   keep thinking of something, will it happen? 
Some people call it coincidence. Some call it 
         foresight or premonition. Others say that's 
                   bullshit; but if you believe it,  
it may turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.  
         When lightning strikes a person or object, 
                   electrical current either zaps the body
with such speed, it may not even leave a mark. Or,
         in something called a flashover, it moves 
                   just across and over the skin's  
moist surface— in this instance, there's a higher  
         chance of survival. In the late 1700s, 
                   Lichtenberg kept scrapbooks of branching, 
fern-like patterns in the wake of lightning 
         strikes— Pictures that, keranographists beieve, 
                   resemble objects in the vicinity—
a towering pine, lamp-post, or ship's mast; 
         the jagged silhouette of rocks and scrub.
                   The spine of a half-eaten fish.