Observe the organism
Squirming across the sea of history,
Single-celled organism, weary of entropy:
It was sold a world and then, almost as a jibe,
Was told it had to push against it to survive.
Aeons unwrapped from oceans of
Dark and scattered loneliness:
A single god consciousness emerges.
Meaning, purpose:
Witness, learn, suffer, try,
Create, destroy, laugh, cry, die;
Intuit, feel, play, explore,
Love, lose, wonder, desire,
Remember, forget,
Remember and re-member and
Re
Member
The Giant God Clocks in the skies.
Some say there are many
And they bred us, enslaved us;
Some say they don’t care about us,
Don’t even know we exist.
Yet others say there is One, and
It waits for us to turn inward and come to meet it,
Take the time to get to know it,
Because it is lonely,
And that is why we are here.
We are God’s imaginary friends come real.
But we fixate on and attach to
This material dimension,
Get distracted from Its great game and so,
Every now and then,
It tantrums, throws us toys out of the cot
Like a big child.
We are God slowly maturing,
Growing Itself up and out
At exponentially accelerating speeds.
How old is God.
Poor, lonely God. How old are You?
We pity you. You pity us. It’s in the nature
Of so-called Love:
To look upon in favour or disfavour -
The appetites of animals, men,
Gods.
Once the civility of language is unzipped
The evidence is laid bare like a nymph caught naked
And tied to a rock in the waves;
How bizarre, these rounds of prophecy, myths,
Understanding, sooth, knowing, theorising,
Calculating, hypothesizing, weaving, discriminating:
Stories, all. No more, no less.
We are immersed in a tapestry of tall tales,
Figments of legends titanic in height,
Sunk beneath the rising waters,
Lost and out of sight.
Let’s just be patient
And wait another couple of thousand years.
Nothing of us now is going to survive
Or be discovered again one day.
We are made of plastic.
Nothing from Now will remain.
This is an ephemeral age,
Fleeting experiences of attachment to
Cheaper rebirth and burning the house down
Like there’s no tomorrow.
The organism grows a stoic grace,
Sits and learns to breathe on its own,
Works out how to look up with eyes closed
And smile in greeting at the possibility of
A Great Knowable Unknown.
Observe the organism.
Listen to all its thousands of short thoughts:
A humm -
What computers are based on. The processing unit.
Observe the organism moving between those stories,
Maintaining a tight balance,
Sifting through friends and family, making head and tail,
Sorting out riff from raff now: who are the allies?
What does it really need?
Watch the organism simplify.
Yes, you: Watch.
Watch the organism artfully become aware and awake to,
Process and adapt to subtle impressions,
And grow its sense of humour.
Watch the organism adapt.
