Six Notebooks

We are, I guess, I think, I surmise,
In some way think that we are, to my understanding
All of us, you, me, the guy in the pickup, the woman in the hat
Trying to make sense of the world
To make it add up, to give it an arc
As if the world is a movie that drives us to a meaning
As if some insight can explain
How once there was nothing or actually all
Of everything that was to be already was but was
Smashed up into something so small that it was
Smaller than we can imagine, so small
Even mathematicians or physicists
Lose track of very small
Numbers, smaller than anything possible
But everything that was or was to be started there
And then over the next 16 billion years, give or take
Did some messing around until
We, you and I , pickup guy and hat woman, all of us
Were born into this blue green planet under a yellow sun that avoided being destroyed for the last 6 billion years while it ached towards us
We want a reason, an arc, a meaning
Anything or something that makes sense of it
In the four score that we might have
Before we disintegrate into ashes
We want it to mean something, anything
We strive and strategize, have imposed or try to impose
Something onto this
This, of course, is the source of most
If not all
Of our problems.

PWS 3/10/26