It is early, still the darkest of the dark.
And already I have killed (in exasperation)
two mosquitoes and (inadvertently)
All the same, the sun will rise
in its sweeps of pink and red clouds.
Not for me does it rise and not in haste does it rise
but step by step, neither
with exasperation nor inadvertently, and not with
any intended attention to
any one thing, but to all, like a god
That takes its instructions from another, even greater,
whose name, even, we do not know. The one
that made the mosquito, and the spider; the one
that made me as I am: easy to exasperation, then penitent.
I have recently been watching bit and pieces of various programs about the nature of the universe. My spouse is doing a sermon series on this topic, so I join him in his musings.
Just last night we watched Brian Greene's "The Elegant Universe," that shows us the universe through the lens of mathematics and physics. Last week I saw bits part of the series, "Cosmos" starring Carl Sagan. I never watched it when it first came out in the 1980's. As I see it now, I marvel how the words spoken there reveal to our kind how much the suns are like gods. They are such a miracle in a vast ocean of mystery, and they bring so much life. We are so small compared to the billions and billions of stars in the universe. Yet, knowing this, we grow large and beautiful, for we are made of star dust. We are stars.
Carl Sagan produced a fictional movie and book, "Contact," which is about how humans are stars, and also so childlike and fallible. In this mix, always, is the awe and wonder of existence. It is in my top ten favorite movies because the beauty there and the possibility of healing calls me to my better self. Towards the end of the movie when the main character is hurtling towards other galaxies, she looks out on the birth and death of stars and says, "They should have sent a poet."
Well, they did. The universe sent us Mary. She calls me to my better self this morning.
What is the universe to you?