Lex Fridman

And you write, Now in the branches of the greatest tree in the jungle, I watched as the mist river caught the morning rays illuminating golden currents.

Swirling as it rushed over the canopy like a stream from heaven.

In the troughs and basins and lower areas, the river was deep blue.

But then, as it flowed up and over the taller trees, slow rapids washing over the canopy, the Miss River became ignited, electrified in the gold magnificence of the sunlight.

Scores of birds flew up in and out of the churning currents.

The life and breath of the Amazon was flowing from north to south along the basins of the Las Piedras over the jungle.

My God.

My God.

I thought of everyone I loved, of every creature contained in the leafy distance.

The jungle itself was like a great being, a monstrous leviathan of warm green might.

I wanted to call down to JJ and tell him to find a way up.

I wanted my mother to see it.

I wanted the world to see it.

The light filled my eyes and I found myself wiping away tears.

You know, I should take the small tangent of saying the obvious, but the thing that needs to be said is you're a fucking great writer.

All right.

You mentioned macaws as part of the process of the jungle waking up.

I read that when you first started in the jungle, that's kind of your job, is studying those.

And me as a fan of monogamy and birds.

So macaws are beautiful, but they're also monogamous creatures.