Yes, it is is-ness and we have need of the awareness of it when it is least evident in the minutes of our moments.
I am one pixel of humanity. My heart is one of many, alive and no longer alive. There is such a grand inevitability of numbers, there is no point in counting.
I value human contact. I derive hope and I savour the pleasures of hoping in the way I relate to communion with the unending oceanic calm in my heart of hearts.
I bring into existence the image of myself afloat in an oceanic cosmos of calm.
What presumption is it to choose to float in oceanic calm?
First? The unwet waters are terrifying as drowning in unknowing. Burning alive has the merit of a sensory flash between life and oblivion. Inside kilometres of stifling unbreathability I can be free to choose to think.
Second and last? The baby, the youngster, the adult, the one beset with the inexorable advance of decrepitude, each and every aspect of my existence has the right to enter ataraxia with no payment fee.
These are choices.
In one of my fell swoops, I can lay waste to and destroy my universe.
Another swoop, and here is a rise up. It is a bright gigantic fountain arc. Here is a thunder of waterfall steaming. Here time is diffracted by light from ten thousand suns. Fractal dimensions intersect seamless haloed space. Every direction is a-dazzle.
Here in this chaos of living aliveness, I am totally content. I glare with wide gaze at the no of all nothing
In a galaxy a long way away, I found a Palace. It was made during millions of years of evolution, and its existence was the urge to grow.
It grew away from the centre of its planet, and was admired by all who had ganglions to admire with.
The empty Palace requires a visitor, for with no witnesses, the structure exists inchoate, incomplete. With or without a witness, it crumples and melts down into the loam of its origin anyway.
It has constructed itself to be an object of desire to beings with legs or wings.
In their absence, it relies on its trillion brethren to display its message and with it to fill every space between fire and ice.
Long ago, it took the form that love takes whenever love has the opportunity to dance with atoms.
Therefore it has no need to say, “Love”.
~ ♡ 🌟 ♡ ~
[This report from an interstellar explorer was rebroadcast to its galaxy far far away, in the hope that the Palaces of Earthly Love may come to be recognised, venerated and given the status of Universal Stellar Protection by all star-system populations for all time]
AUTHOR’S FOOTNOTE
I took a photo of an unusually coloured striated garden poppy. Later that day, I enhanced it slightly, to post it on Facebook, and then the line came, “In a galaxy a long way away”.
The combined factors involved in the arrival on Earth of such a complex botanical structure are all but impossible comprehend.
My whole life I have struggled to find out how mathematics, geometry, cellular biology, phytochemistry and evolutionary botany, could affect an organism whose purpose of existence is single-pointed, and whose outward form is graceful, coherent simplicity.
A most effective and dramatic perspective I have been using for years is to pretend I have stepped off a Flying Saucer and am taking stock of an endless variety of never-seen, never-imagined Earthly life forms.
What happens when I, a creature from another solar sytem, am walking in a land of non-stop discovery?
In a flash, my perspective broadens by astronomical leaps. I am one being in a Cosmos of beings, all completely different, yet all sharing life.
My restless questions about origins, about shape, form and composition fade into a lower state of urgency. What matters is the universality of life.
My garden poppy is a messenger of life, and the astonishment is clear. Poppy exists throughout the millenia.
The manner of life’s self-assembly, of life’s urge to exist, endure, and replicate have come to me in this one flower – just for me and only at this point in time – via the operation of whole epochs of confusion, destruction and rebirth.
I have no reason to be shy to say this. It represents the result of massive recurring surges of the pure powers of love on our planet.
There is something inexplicable and unfindable in the startling grace displayed in this poppy. The grace does not require analysis or research. It simply asks of me to release all question, and to accept with childlike wonder the blindingly brilliant fact of its existence, here and now, with me
In our times, scientific research affords us quite a close understanding of the scale of the Cosmos in relation to this, our human stone construct raised in reverence of it.
Now I see this stone circle displays magnificence – it being forged up toward the implacable unknowable heavens through sweat and intellect, blood brotherhood, blood sisterhood.
And I see it displays an animal’s extreme, unsullied, inborn modesty. A modesty on display to hundreds of thousands of our generations. An unconscious puniness on the part of creatures who acted to preserve and remember the humility of their existence spurred on only by the evidence of their physical existences, led by the heart, at the insistent and unyielding promptings of the soul.
At one and the same time, this circle of stones blesses the builders for their ability to look beyond their small lives, and it frames the builders – and it blesses us too, their descendents – for our being Cosmic beings, conscious, celebratory, humble, proud, sacred human
The View at 72+ 