I get discouraged sometimes.
I want to understand this world.
Win through to patterns that will unlock it all.
But, like the knife against rock,
I come back duller with each try.
60 minutes, full of the Sandinistas
and of 60 cent labor in Juarez
and the presidential debate
where two men tried to balance honesty
against what the masses could comprehend.
The mystics say there is no place
to win through to.
That there is no key with which to unlock
these things
and that this, itself, is the key.
Midway somewhere in the press of evolution
where entropy’s laws run reversed,
we are blessed by the local demise,
in nuclear flames, of what most
of this universe is.
No balance is possible, no justice,
or self-alignment
for, which ever way you turn it,
change and the steady-state cannot
co-exist.
And whether complexity is building
or dissipating
the fractal nature of change
at every level yields
local gradients.
But we stand in the midst of this
and count permutations anyway.
Forming laws Ad Hoc, Ad Infinitum
trying to patch a moving break
that just cannot heal.
We are consciousness
in animal bodies spawned of this melee
and we imagine God and purpose
and we get lost in our own daydreams
and beliefs and systems and fables
and theories and sciences.
And we cringe behind these and hope
that the demon, entropy, will turn out
to be weaker than life
but he is not.
For no matter how high we
or our evolution will build
he waits like the drain of a sink
behind every scene
at every scale.
And, in the end, all we seem to have
is our spirit; that awareness of being.
And we hope it is more than just
the echos inside our biocomputers
gone self-awareness critical.
Diminish the scales from cosmic to here…
Rose smiles and my boys grow,
Chris comes and gives me a hug
and I run my hand
through his four year old hair.
I age and weather and love in this mess.
I believe, less and less, in anything
and I love more and more for nothing.
And I watch for the hand of God
behind the scenes
and fear my imagination more than others.
I live.
gallagher
7 oct 84
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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