The Glue That Holds Us To the Canvas

Like sparks trailing from a million, billion fireflies, a single thought limns a trillion suns. From the first small bonfire flickering across four million years, whose light imprints itself upon the canvas backdrop of a feckless, barely cohesive Infinity, the matter of man, no more than the past, transmogrifies the future -- denies the import of "real" or "black" or any other type of matter. Yet existing, it defines the local locus of now and when ... and how and then. The freezing cold of space burns like energy backfiring on itself. Somewhere, celestial lightshows flare across parsecs of near emptiness. Liquid oxygen fuels the laboring lungs of multitudes, singing out the music of the spheres, maestros of a trillion symphonies, platelets in the lifeblood of the Universe. Like a Coriolis wave that imprints itself upon a formless sandstorm, a thought burns itself into the very fabric of Eternity, opens like a budding flower, and initiates its own realities. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ibPT24qMTw Author notes Je suis un Capricorn. ] This is my Desiderata. Written December 2nd, 2005