An event planner from birth,
he becomes annoyed to notice
what had been short-range planning
is now long-range
hoping to renew
anthropocentric intelligent investment
What sentience may his cells,
molecules,
atoms have that remains?
Now free to transverse
transform
transparent with non-other
neighbors
Looking for unconditional love
compassion
enlightenment
cooperative empowerment
With synergetic
energetic
united,
but not uniformed,
neighbors
Rematriated,
reformed
from patriarchal caste position
preservation
compulsion
Recreating a less anthropocentric view,
panentheism becomes as humanely obvious
as sacred ethos wealth
embracing organic eros health
Renewing virtues
of green ecological climates
planning a robust EarthMother democracy.
Emotional vacuity thrives in the thicket
where the trees of life stand dismally upright,
seeking the hollow heaven they cannot reach,
but branches suture the intricate web of living.
Roots sink into the essence of time,
holding the formless epitome of every soul,
defined unperceived by the dissolved self,
lost in the silence of the fervent foliage.
That’s where you’ve gone
with the spirited sentience of existence.
What if our planet is sentient
In ways we don’t understand
And we by out actions have
Upset events it had planned,
Brought forward change
By hacking down the trees,
And Interfering in many ways
That just didn't please.
On a body the size of a planet
We are just like irritant fleas,
Or maybe to be considered
As an invasive skin disease.
Perhaps a period of vulcanism
Would quickly clean the skin
Clearing any infestation
Allow new things to begin.
First came grass and weeds,
Followed by spreadIng trees,
Skies full of returning birds
Flitting insects, droning bees.
Animals occupied
Ruins left by man
Earth slowly returned
To its interrupted plan.
Soon the shreds of
Plastic waste
Being Man’s only
Lasting trace.
In a very short time
Mankind had gone
Earth had shrugged
And just carried on
Perhaps the next infestation
Would be more compliant
To the wants and needs of
Its benevolent host giant.
A minuscule spot of dust
In a universe so vast
Without concern for any
Concepts of future or past.
As
Autumn
approaches,
patchwork palettes,
sweet sienna sap, and savory seeds
augment this flavorful fragrant season,
softly cooing
to the winds
“It’s time,
come”
I hear the breathing during my torpor,
rapacious immateriality rustling,
like some raptorial raptor,
like some alternative whispering.
Am I sensing sentience in otherworldly form
or projecting my own panic?
Have I contacted unearthly norm
or am I becoming chronically manic?
Count me among humans incapable
of messaging with any other species.
Nature’s diversity makes this fact inescapable.
Earth’s living order is full of mysteries.
In what fog could I detect extraterrestrials?
Might I be oblivious to their presence
or might they enlist my manic essentials?
Indeed, such beings may signal their sentience.
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