Tag Archives: perspective

There may be such a thing as too much perspective

 

Life has been on earth for five billion years.

We’ve seen five mass extinctions. We’re currently undergoing the sixth,.

There have been many geological and biological factors for the extinctions. The famous meteor impact. Volcanic activity. Thriving plants altering the chemistry of the atmosphere. Imbalanced ocean water. 

Have you ever looked up a video of the tectonic plates shifting? Landasses are just the dried pudding skin on top of a swirling hot ball of magma. Watch them float and mash into each other.  https://youtu.be/IlnwyAbczog 

I looked at Google maps today and zoomed out until I could see the earth as a globe. The land masses still look like liquid. They’re clearly made of a slow-flowing substance. Look at the tip of Africa. It’s crumpled.

How small we are. We run and scream and fret about the mess we’ve made of things. What absurd hubris. We aren’t the first and we won’t be the last. And unless something integral about us changes, we certainly will not survive as a species beyond another few hundred thousand years.

Only one thing is for sure: the algae always wins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Walking Absurdities

 

It’s been one of those days when everyone seems to be having a rough time of it, except for me.

Maybe this will help lighten the mood.

 


 

What are we made of?
What is this puttylike substance?
Doesn’t anybody notice
We are ridiculous.
All stretchy faces and brightly colored insides
With two bright eyeballs in front
A wide mouth below
And the nose!
An absurd protuberance
Set far outward
So you can stick your shelf nose right over stuff
And vacuum up smells.
We’re not God’s finest work.
We’re awkward creations.
We’re the hairless cats of primates.
When excited, we bray laughter.
When we age our teeth fall out, our skin gets baggy.
We wallop each other with closed fists
And break our silly noses
Right across our stretchy faces.

Our trunks split into limbs split into digits
Which splay and wiggle and toy with things
Which pick and slap and pop zits.
Our toes are stubby.
And we do stub them,
Repeatedly.
Sometimes we break them repeatedly,
Through stubbing alone.
Sometimes they break
Because we collided with another clumsy person
Who accidentally landed on them.
Sometimes we break them
Because we were moving a couch,
Filling a nest with worthless treasures
We found and attached value to,
Which we then dropped on our foot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

On the futility of knowledge

 

Everything starts and ends
With the floor
On the floor
We are born on it
Crawl on it
Walk on it
We die and fall on it
It isn’t really a foundation
It’s just a flat plane
To which we are limited.
Time, the universe, life, death, space
All happen on a plane.
We can only understand this one level of reality
We observe and shape our reality
Aristotle said
We should not experiment, only observe
Experiments change the observation
Now we say
Observation changes the experiment
Eventually it all comes around again
Old theories are proven right
Outmoded fashions come back into action
Old thoughts are rethought
Things that are lost get discovered again
Children crawl on the floor
It’s all pretty well impossible to measure
How silly to try.
The ancients who spent their days
Trying to count the stars
Trying to corner knowledge
They really did that
And when do you think
They finished?
Even if you finish counting what is visible with the naked eye
Then you must move to another pole
And count again.
Even then
You may have a telescope
Or you might make a better, stronger one
But one can never
Never
Be done counting the stars
Because the universe may not be infinite
But by the time you reach the edge of it
You are back at the beginning
The number has changed
And you must start
All over again.

So it is in life.
What we measure is immeasurable.
And even if we try
Anything we put in our heads
Will be made head-shaped
And no longer be the thing
That we wished to understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

One Bird

 

One minute left
To breathe
One stream trickling away from the desert.
One bird lands to sip
Delicately, as birds will
Beakful by beakful
The sweet cool water
Life giving, nourishing.
And then with ten powerful thrusts of his wings
He is again aloft
Looking for something
Only he knows.
One bird in the sky
One story
And not much at all to tell.
But to him
It is the only story that matters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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