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Poetry
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| This much I know | |
| By bobbybonce | ||||
| 17 May 2006 | ||||
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This vast network of miracles Why is there pain, why is there suffering Are we being watched, cared for, have we been abandoned, are we being toyed with? Is there a plan? I simply do not know… Is this vast network of miracles merely a fluke? Surely not. How can I believe in these stories? These stories that are so clear to me in their nature. They are tools for control. Myths engineered throughout our histriory to apply dominance, to exercise power, to manipulate, to breed fear, to breed war. Stories required to quell the panic. Stories required to enforce adoration. A natural consequence of our insecurities and a representation of the hole our advanced intellect reveals. Can there be truth in these tales, these yarns that are woven throughout all cultures, their shapes shifting but their essence remaining unchanged? I simply do not know…. Yet this much I know. I know that everything I see is stupendous, fantastic, astounding. That words fail to even begin to grasp the majesty that surrounds me. The force that blossoms and soars, that lifts us up and throws us down, in wild abandon, together, alone, in chaos, in light. This vast never ending network of miracles. This explosion of matter and formula. This will to survive, to move on, to conquer. This cruel, wondrous, tragic, blessed performance that I am a part of. I do not need details. I do not need stories. I do not need to be in the gang. I do not need old men in robes to tell me what I know, what I see, what I feel. This is enough. This is enough.
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