I’ve been thinking about how we measure our becoming – the way that we used to think that human ingenuity would always triumph in the end. Perhaps it will, but then again we have been here before, right? We try so hard to convince ourselves that what matters is slowing time and denying our mortality, whilst at the same time only living life in a linnear fashion.
I get glimpses sometimes – not certainties – just hints that what we are is not just what we can see and touch. Then I remember to all those deep religious thinkers from every tradition who saw everything to be connected and that the spirit that lives in all of us is the same.
The god who loves things by becoming them as Richard Rohr would have it.
But I can’t make sense of any of it, apart from exploring it with poetry.
The upright ape ascends from knapped flint to
Silicon chip. He scratches sonnets in split slate and
Solves problems (almost) as fast as he makes them.
Alchemy promised gold, but instead it turned the
Lights on, lighting a road ahead called Progress.
There is nothing new under the sun; the circle is still
Unbroken. Empires rise whilst others fall; ours was
Not the first at all. It turns out that our times were never
Linear (just oscillation) and that for every page of
Knowledge gained another is forgotten.
But what are we, if not whisps of the same Spirit?
We carry in us the same am-ness as all things that ever were,
Hidden under thin skin and hubris, waiting for those moments
Beneath stars or trees or tenderness when we remember;
It was all about connection.