Would any of this matter
If we were but dust?
Soul gives rise to spirit
Which forms a body
Which develops a mind
…
Sounds like a lot of effort
Would be nice to know
What all this is about
If my soul signed a disclaimer
The details are long forgotten
I choose what to wear based on whim
Draping and discarding philosophies
Injecting mankind’s knowledge stim
A butterfly in Africa flaps its wings
And I wear Cartesian duality today
Perhaps Carthusian spirituality tomorrow
And Egyptian hermetics the day after
My mind is never made up, tragic flaw
My mind is never made up, great salvation
A butterfly flaps its wings in Norway
And the tornado pushes my mind to a new doorway
***
The average person is made up
Of three generations of subjective truth
You, your parents’ and grandparents’
Coz your folks are less likely to lie to you
You drink from experience’s cup
120 years of history’s soup
The narratives flavoured by traits inherent
Memories like a safari, uncaged zoo
An example:
Granddad a Jacobite exorcist
Dad a lapsed company executive
Demon spirits real or psychological trauma?
You hear both sides and make your own conclusions
Grandmother a Red Cross nurse
Seen a world war waged in Africa
And partition of Pakistan and India
Mother a doctor in the city
Helped fight a war against leprosy
And still battles the System’s apathy
I am shaped by their subjective truths
In my mind, their eternal moots
Their lives have shaped me, whether I like it or not
To my nephews and nieces I’ll pass on these 120 years of thought.
Mars and Saturn wrestle
Friendly competition
Never in earnest
Saturn pins Mars down
Mars taps out and laughs
I will now write at a slower pace.
Whispers of the Universe 