How to be remembered by a stranger a hundred twenty-five years later
“There! This is the place I want to be buried after I die. ”
He stood there, making a mental note. It was at the twilight time of a January winter day. After a few days’ treacherous horse-riding journeys, he finally reached this peak spot that oversaw the south end of the San Francisco Bay. It was a breathtaking view, as he was told, and he could even spot some massive orchards in Santa Clara County, where he pioneered building up and owned.
He sat on the horse, watching out to the end of the skyline. This was one of the best places to reflect and contemplate. He had an eventful life behind him and a very successful one in the end.
But his time was running short now. His body was aching like hell, but not as bad as his aching soul.
For his entire life, he failed to reconnect with the woman he loved, not even after they shared a son, not even after he became the wealthiest man in this beautiful newly minted state of California.
Now she was long gone. And his own days started counting.
How much he longed to be remembered and found again when she returned to this world in her next lives.
“How do I ensure she will find me one hundred and twenty-five years later when she arrives?”
“The best way to get her attention is to build an observatory with the largest telescope on earth I am yet to build. I guarantee you it will be so prominent that anyone reaching the end of the Bay will see it,” said one wise young man, a brilliant engineer, astronomer, and geographer he admired the most in this new land of miracles.
In those days, this was almost the same as building a rocket to fly to the Moon.
He handed over an equivalent of a modern-day 1.5 billion dollar check, “build it for me, please. And make sure to bury me under that telescope of yours when it is ready.”
“One more thing, make sure there will always be fresh flowers arranged next to that telescope. She is very fond of fresh flowers.”