Thursday, June 16, 2016
The Refuge of the Sky
It could be a day like any other day. No, it's not. It comes and it goes. It is June and no June is exactly like the other. 'So complex there is no way its an accident:" for some that is proof of God and that is fine. I don't think this God cares which direction people pray, what they eat, whom they love. If it is an accident, well, am I supposed to be overawed at the spectacle of physics? Then that is perfectly acceptable as well.
Look at that thing. Is it even a thing? Is the tree a frame, is it leaves? Is it billions of constituents so small it needs a God to understand. Would God want to? Does God really need to?
I'm really just a woman lying in the grass watching a cloud go by. That is one story. That is one small event. all part of the perceptual framework I suppose. Wavelengths. Goethe versus Newton and all of that. I side with Goethe today, and give Newton his due some other time because that is a maple tree and no apples shall fall and taint the Earth with sin of knowledge of good and evil. As if they have a place here.
I have no funeral to go to. No son to find. That is someone else's story but it is so part of me now, but each word is a miracle. Snowflakes. Time does all of that as well, and the only permanency are the fleeting ghosts in the borders of this place. Some are mine, and some are others.
The most melancholy ghosts walk in the shadows of a summer day, but Immanuel was right. I can't really know the Geist an sich. Or was that Georg? Or is the day so beautiful I conflate the two? I'll take his arm and go walking with him and get a vanilla ice cream milkshake and we'll return to this symphony I will never hear the same way twice.
Yes, I said. Yes. I will. Yes.