| March 16th 2009
The aedicule survives. It ponders
the future by grasping the future as a fiction and the past as uncertainty. Hardly the wish of the hungry or of
those river dwellers.
So why does it survive.
If I think of life as the product of a
chemical soup struck suddenly by a lightening bolt, then either I
must think of myself as a short chemical reaction, or as the gift of a vengeful
God.
Neither is correct. Both
are products of conspiracy. That sitting around in contemplation of
obedience.
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Yet the mote in my eye has
it's origins too. I wish to belong to a universal. That thing
which is life. Not as a storm trooper, but as a belonging part, and
here the idea of order has begun to offend me.
Life is chaos, life forms are orderly. In the
end the question is are all atoms the same, or do they just behave that
way.
If I could answer this question I would know exactly
when to plant the potatoes.
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