At first we were wisps of dust, floating on the nothingness that was the primordial stuff from which galaxies are formed. Each one alone. Each one unaware that there were others like them.
Then there were clumps, as mote stuck to mote and clump stuck to clump. The clumps attracted one another until they comprised a minor portion of the mass of the system. They got denser and denser until eventually, the huge mass at the heart of the system ignited and became a new star.
We entities of energy let our lights shine so that the universe will know the difference between the random and the intentional. We split the darkness in two. It is clear where light ends and darkness begins.
We speak in metaphor because our heart is broken. You cannot look into the heart of a star without it ultimately consuming you. Some things are worth being consumed for, others aren’t. May I have the means and the will to be a beacon in the darkness, a child of the light.
I practice the art of the poet. I make my words evocative while remaining ambiguous so that people reading them can map them onto their particular situation. Thus the general becomes the specific and the hack becomes the bard.
There is no need for moon or June or tune. The bridges across the creeks and streams in the back roads of the county each have their own vocabulary of emotions that paint the hearts of the reader.
As long as there are wild places where nature can assert her primacy, the wilderness thrives. It is only when people are stacked like cord wood that the passions of the masses boil over in a bloody mess.
When in the course of electoral madness, the will of the people is subjugated to that of a disproportionaly sized collection of privileged people there is almost inevitably a reaction.
None of which actually matters because it has all precipitated the next morning like the dew on the morning flowers.
Sweet dreams, don’t forget to tell the ones you love that you love them, and most important of all, be kind.