Зимородок

But it keeps on beating,

It keeps on beating in the darkness.

There is nothing to do but sit.

Stare into the void.

Read the blanks on the empty page,

Over and over,

Till they form a pattern,

Till the repetition yields a meaning:

“Let there be darkness, for there is.”

There is darkness.

There is darkness.

There is darkness.

All there is, is darkness.

Until slowly, slowly

Contours form,

A faint outline emerges:

“Let there also be light.”

Realities

we create a thin veneer of simplicity and predictability

over terrifyingly unmanageable chaos

and call it reality.

    Anastasya Shepherd

We call it reality

And consider the matter settled,

So we can turn our attention to

Making sandwiches for the school lunchbox,

Submitting the quarterly forecast report,

Walking the dog,

Writing the thank you note.

At least, that is how it is

For some of us,

Some of the time.

We collect data about it,

Quantify the uncertainty

Of our measurements,

Publish papers in academic journals.

We put ironic quotation marks

Around its edges,

Take selfies.

We blaze with anger about what it is,

Emblazon on our banners

What we want it to be.

We split into tribes, go to war,

Mangle and kill each other

Under the pretext

That there is one right way,

One right answer to every question

About the definition

Of a pin, a dance, an angel;

About the way to count how many…

We beat our heads against it,

Search for the path, the mantra, the koan,

Meditate, keep diaries,

Create sand mandalas of great beauty,

Sweep all the colors together,

Let the river carry them away

As we fall into insanity,

Rise to enlightenment,

Or the other way around.

We pick it up like a toy, a ball.

We run across sunlit grass,

Laughing,

Tossing it back and forth.

We forget it in the gathering dusk

Under the lilac bushes.

It is time to go back in,

To get some sleep.

At least, that is how it is

For some of us,

Some of the time.

Constructivism

Proof by construction is the path

That God Himself has set in math.

To prove that chaos can be transformed

Into a world, the world was formed.

A choir of angels came to be

Singing: “Hosanna! QED!”

But man, a thing of clay and dust,

Had little wit and too much trust.