Archive for the ‘Wonder’ Category

Dark matter, consciousness, death, love — sweet set up to sell stuff.

Mystery lurks lucrative, so someone will always be hawking some witchery here, some voodoo there, magic, hocus-pocus, rhino horn, ecstacy, patent medicine.

But what is mystery?

Is it waving wand, silly staff, potent drug, scientific theory or secret glen? Is it esoteric syntax, new tech, plastic cross?

I think it’s nothing like that, nothing behind the curtain, gorilla glass, trees. It’s no hidden valley, magic hat or moving hand; no poetic cadge, literary cajolery, scientific skullduggery, religious legerdemain, no techno-tricks, no super-app, no tomb, mountain, moon or cave.

Mystery is not witch, wizard, wonk or wise one pulling levers behind the scene.

Mystery needs no proponents. It needs no operator, no literature, no religion, no science, no opiates, no humbug, physicist, diviner, historian, alchemist, prophet, priest, astronomer, amman, poet, shaman or techie.

For there, in every bit and bite, frag and piece and slice of life and world and space and time,

Exists the quiddity, the essence, the quintessence, the very non-not-nucleus of mystery.

Mysterium tremendum et fascinans —

It is the reflection of the tree in my bird bath this morning.

My tapping keyboard,

The cat sleeping beside me,

The rectangle of sun on the nook table,

And you, gone off to shop,

And return again because of your love for me.

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Someone once said to me, “It’s the little things that drive you crazy!”

It’s not.

It’s the little things that drive you sane — pills, pats and pets.

All praise for what is small: dollops and gobs and dabs, the edges of pie crusts, chocolate shavings.

Hail micro-sacredness of life, tiny flotsam and mini-jetsam — veins, mists, creeks, fogs.

Is it not life’s micro-detail, womp and woof of wondrous world, that moves us to gratitude?

Drops, pinches, dashes, rain, cinnamon, lotion; fermions, flounces, hadrons, hats, bosons, bacon bits, antiquarks — there is a breath-taking thereness in the smallest things.

And then at last there is the weight and force of slivered, severed time.

The massive power of one, tiny, single “was.”

The mighty microsity of one “will be.”

And the astonishing force of this quickly, quarky, snarky second’s “is.”

I’m smack down, knock-you-out, beyond-the-heliosphere smitten.

I’m attracted beyond the extreme edge of blacked-out captivation.

I’m flat-out, heels-over-head, shot-into-space-to-the-edge-of-the-sun besotted.

I’ve never seen, anywhere, anytime, in any way such flat-out, alluring, full-on, crazy-pleasing, floor-you-and-snatch-you-back-up again loveliness.

There simply is no other beauty like this. There is no other ultra-extreme elegance beyond the silken edge of the finest elegance to match this.

I just can’t stop gawking!

And when I was kicked in, smashed up, beaten down and washed out — done, gone and finished — this raging beauty grabbed my hand, smiled me up and invited me out.

I can’t get over it; I won’t get over it; and nothing in the future will get me over it.

I’m in love!

With God!

Frighteningly high mountain cliffs, from a distance,

And in evening light, may appear as a smooth, soft and safe wonder to us.

And a life with missteps, and drops and falls into this or that plunging cravass,

May later, near the end, appear a softer and more beautiful thing.

How we chose to remember what was sharp or hard or full of harm will make it what it was to us.

With but a little more distance we might yet remember,

That at our psyche’s shocking birth we were astonished,

In puberty thrilled.

In our middle years we were astounded.

In old aged sat amazed.

And in the end, dreamily drifting down death’s deep drop, if we so choose,

We may find that we are knocked over and ploughed under with wonder.