Particles of dust, we are. Our bodies. All the things we see. Bits and smidgeons come together and make mountains. Little pieces of this, little pieces of that. You can arrange them by weight if it makes you feel better. You can call them periodic. You can give them names and numbers and create for yourself an order. But there is no order, only the chaos of collision and cohesion that, for a moment, sets up the bowling pins in a neat pattern that only seems symmetrical to the eye.
There is gravity. There is cool air and warm air and thus there is wind. There is water in this place that falls copiously from the sky. No thing stands forever in this place of molded dust and swirling particles. The bits and pieces wash away. Ashes to ashes, the bowling pins fall and scatter. The became becomes the becomming. Grains of sand wash down the rivers and spill out into the seas where they flow with the currents and the tides, building beaches and dunes, beaches and dunes, forming and reforming islands and bars.
They say we are vibrations. The scientists do. All that is manifest in space and in time is a waveform; a particular frequency of an occilating ‘string’. The music of the universe. One man a note, two men a chord. Together, at our best, we are a symphony. We are ripples in the sand of time, flowing endlessly into new patterns and forms. What if time is the medium that holds the sand together? Moisture, a minute electrical charge. Perhaps we are the creators of time, the makers of our medium, like fish that produce water. Time is what gives meaning to the body. Spirit is everlasting and always. Bodies are the original clocks. We make time. It’s an invention, not a natural phenomenon under whose yoke we are helpless. We make gravity too. We can keep building super-colliders bigger and bigger but we will never find the God particle.
I see sand and I see shadow. Volume, texture, weight. I am throughly convinced by this. Because my eyes say it is true. My fingers assist in the illusion. I can feel it and of course my senses do not lie. Water and wind form ripples, that will last a little while. The phenomenon I see here in the pattern of sand is just another clock, another calendar, another in an endless patterns of lines. Lines and shadow, lines and shadow. It is only now that I envy the blind. You are the God Particle and by You I mean We.
We’ve been looking all this time in the wrong place.
o O o