All the complexities of life, we are told, are the result of
the accidental conflation of events and materials in a universe both
predictable and random.
Some think that this is all about to change, that we are becoming
the masters of our universe. We are on the cusp of becoming gods. If the fools
among us would just shut up and fall in line, we would be able to control this
molten ball upon which we live, and our scientists could promise us eternal
life.
Of course many others disagree. Some peacefully yield to
belief in a higher order, others aggressively exercise their views by pursuing violent
approaches to control their destiny. In the process we ensure that the universe
remains full of surprises.
Poets, meanwhile, do their best to understand the world, and
fulfill our roles as scientific artists. We try to put microscopes on life and
human emotions. We use words put together like chemical compounds to cathect
human thought and restore souls.
It has been a difficult time to do this. There is so much
anger poisoning the environment, that it is hard to find the compounds that can
bridge the abyss. And that is perhaps the message as we look at ourselves. We
are tiny creatures in a universe of infinite dimension. We will never be gods, we
are too imperfect to allow this to happen. And we will never have all the
answers. All we can do is try not to let our egos overwhelm our perspective. Part
of the great gift of life is the mystery. If we are honest with ourselves, most
of us like the idea of having some things that are just unknown. We like being
surprised. Okay, we don’t like bad surprises, but they are all wrapped up
together, and part of the human condition. We fool ourselves to think
otherwise.
One thing seems pretty certain. We will all be surprised in
the end. Let’s try to get from here to
there without expecting everyone to want to travel the same road.
The following poem is a little reminder of man’s journey across
this earth and how small a part of it we really are. Shamal is from my book “In
the Cat’s Eye” (Snap Screen Press, 2009).
Glenn K. Currie
Shamal
The storm rolled
across the land,
Pushing a wall of
sand a thousand feet high.
It carried the
remains
Of crusaders and
martyrs,
Filling the cracks in
the earth
With ancient epoxy.
The lines of living
were lost
In the enveloping
darkness.
Borders disappeared,
As the wind blended
sacred soil
With the sweat of
shepherds and kings.
It was a world of the
blind,
Each man a wanderer.
When the dust
settled,
The moon spread
pieces of silver
Upon the burial
ground,
And the stars
whispered assurances
That nothing had
changed.
