Tag Archives: biology

The Story of My Life, Simply Told

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I am increasingly fascinated with the realization that I am just a blob of protoplasm, frantically scurrying about on this chunk of cosmic granite with a bunch of other blobs.  In some sense I am part of an ant hill, a simple ant drone going about my daily life thinking that I am separate and distinct from all the other ants, oblivious to the fact that I’m not in the least.  To use another metaphor I, too, am just a single letter in an alphabet…quite often upside down…gradually finding the humility to accept my meager status in this cosmic adventure.

I began this sojourn very simply, just a simple gleam in my daddy’s eye which shortly thereafter took root in my dear momma’s body and soul.  There the magic of life came into play, designing me to go far beyond the pulsating quiver of energy I might have been without this “grand design.”  Thanks to Her wisdom, I “chose” to unfold meaningfully, and contriving arms and legs, a head, a torso and…oh my Lord…genitalia! And, pretty close to an “essence” of this, I found myself with a tiny “will” that is today, nearly seven decades later, still whirly-gigging my way through something I eventually learned to call “life.” I just looked up the term “whirly-gig,” btw, and found the urban dictionary describing it as “an unspecified object that has some sort of rotational point.”  That’s me!!!

I wish I could have discovered this ignominy earlier in life, allowing me to just “whirly-gig” to my hearts to delight rather than being a slave to this “rotational point” that I was.  Hey, I might have occasionally just kicked my heels and screamed with delight, seeing this world as “puppies and flowers all over the place.”It is delightful to look around me this morning, watching the news, chatting with my wife and canine son, Petey and watching this bitter-cold New Mexican Saturday unfold under a marvelous sunny sky.  My wife and Petey too are but “blobs”; but then the whole world is composed of these pulsating sacks of energy, these “meat suits” that we usually take to be who we are.  Wouldn’t it be nice if humankind could find this humility and embrace the notion that we are all in this “thing” together and could get along if we wanted to?

AFTER THOUGHT—The alphabet point was an illusion to Kierkegaard who also felt he was an outside—“I feel like a letter turned upside down in an alphabet.”

A Thoughtful Poem from Historian, William Irwin Thompson

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Am I more than I “know I am”? Historian, and former MIT professor, William Irwin Thompson thinks so and makes a powerful argument in his poem, “Four In the Morning.”  Thompson was just coming on the scene in history studies in the early 1980’s when I was doing graduate work in history at the University of Arkansas.  Thompson was an avant-garde historian, thinking out of the box and even “out side of the box that the box was in.”  The following poem demonstrates this “global” perspective on life, a view that could also be described as cosmic.

FOUR IN THE MORNING

The universe is crawling with unseen life:
angels and djinn and spiritual guides.
Like the excess in a stagnant pond,
this abscess of the Absolute
is obscenely corpulent
in every nook and cranny,
armpit and crotch
of the Great Mother
of dark energy and dark matter
we do not see anymore
than the germs in our guts see us,
because they are not germs
but neurons of a larger brain
in which an I is only an organ,
or rather an artificially imposed
membrane drawn arbitrarily
amid a mass of interactive
molecular gates with ions
coming and going as they please
without a thought of me.
Savages knew this once
and could feel it like an itch
beyond the reach of scratch.
Christian missionaries called it animism
and tried to beat it out of them,
bringing brassieres to contain breasts,
and bibles to contain minds,
but nights when I cannot sleep,
I wake at something the clock
marks as three or four,
with my mind teeming and itching
with alien cosmologies
of journeys through other galaxies
and I wake, knowing more than I am.

“Four in the Morning” comes from his blog, “Meta-psychosis” and appears to be a descent into a maelstrom which could be taken for lunacy, other than for his ability to wrap a perspective around disparate verbal imagery and tie it all together to make his point; what would otherwise be closely akin to psychotic word-salad is a thoughtful, poetic look at the intricate complexity of the beautiful world we live in.  Thompson’s study of history, and the liberal arts, and science, allowed him to present this beautiful poetic essay about the process of life itself in which our individual life is seen as but a component dimension of the pulsating energy field that is life itself.  He makes a persuasive argument that we are “more” than we think that we are, driven by something akin to what Shakespeare had in mind when he noted, “There is a divinity that doeth shape our ends, rough hew them how we may.”