Sacred Ground

Is it to be something if nothing it is can be The wheeling whirring cogs In the cluttering clatter of atoms and stars Whirring their physics into oblivion Nothing more than the sum of all thier predictable parts With their explosive destinations of entropy A cascade failure of universal proportions And cold chemical reactions The final mathematical solutions inevitability In the scientific frame work of gypsy fortune telling That dark arrogant stranger of theoretical abstractions Propounds its dilettante persuasion It really is the end of everything Blank implacable jigsaw puzzle of creation No fractal derivatives intention Accidental constructions of a leaf And merely fortuitious energetic geometry Have no basis in perceivable materiality Nothing else is conscious Only our minds and thoughts perceive And we cannot give into the weirdness Of any spirituality Let the mystics and the prophets adhere To those hokum pocus philosophies A flower is a flower A Bee is just a Bee A clouds is simply a collection of droplets Water just one single molecule of the sea A mountain is nothing but rock And sand is just a beach Wind is nothing more than the movement of air And light a photon a particle wave All so elementary Nothing so simple to explain Despite all their complexity And still in all the scientific clap trap None can clearly explain How such infinitesimal organization Works so well with harmony As if balance were its founding key How do these miraculous events Come to be Try as they might With laudable agreement And back-scratching prize winning theory To contain in particle physics And inadequate thermonuclear dynamics How they themselves and we Came to consciously be Walking through a miracle On the sacred ground of reality Everything so much more than just the sum of all its parts