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Should the universe have a center, like a seed its tree & all these stars its shimmering leaves & all this dark the "earth" of its nebular grip & source of obscure nourishment, than would the universe have an edge: seed loose from this seed's tree to ravish the wind!
Were it not for all this Light, we would join in the Aim & celebrate! As it is, we have lost our place & now live in popular ignorance. H. sapien (beneath the heavens)
The universe has no center. The universe has no edge.
We are not allowed to imagine a place where it advances else give up the well-worn to trembling antcipation; forbidden that aim & what it understands, yet still to fancy it alive, to have an age, behold its increase, cherish its conception: to press upon those blind to the night sky, the beauty of so many stars—a troubled beauty, itself without eyes because of the sapient light of so many cities.
Hopeful, the beauty we behold in you, our Sister—this awkward path of stardust having stumbled upon, what seems to us, a satisfaction of love.
There is, in everyone alive, the wherewithal to collaborate with stars.
Adelpha bredowii
Modern physical theory has Life constrained by the determinations of simple relations: invisible in their interactions, (some hardly beyond the substance of our imaginations!) yet ubiquitous as they are uniform; universal orderings such as gravity, electromagnetism, the strong & the weak nuclear efforts; obligations that seem to assert a predictability that belie the contingent. An indifference to historical health or morbidity that is reciprocated by an unwavering enthusiasm for the conserved, the symmetric & the govern. Persuasion of the fruitful, the dialectics of love & charity could hardly satisfy the ambitions, let alone bind by a testable narrative both the cosmic & the atomic. Physical Law being the discoverable habits of an abiding determinism that knows no time & never “goes native”.
And than there is a philosophy that purports physical law is but a special description of mathematical truths—truths so fundamental to the operations of the universe that all instances of chaos, of instability, of weather, the “random walk” of evolution & even the act of choice itself are subject to & controlled by mathematical determination. “It is hard to see how any line can be drawn to separate physical action under mathematical control from those which might lie beyond it.” These truths deny conception, extant prior to any mental effort. They are what the efforts of reason seek, to make evident its own enlightenment. They are the creatures of a transcendent world of mathematical perfection. We know truth not by our ability to create, but by our ability to discover. Incompleteness haunts only our efforts, vagueness the effect only of our passions, accidents the virtue only of our speculations. Platonic truth disdains such mire. Life is a taint that spreads corruption through all facsimiles of the ideal mathematical form—inhabitants of a divine world of perfect stasis; purged of all spontaneities, of all imagination; that knows neither birth or death, love or charity.
The famulus that submits to such reckoning, has no need for a philosophy of hope. Desire is the source of much error—the mirror’s flaw & morbid reflection. Those of us who see promise in error, who desire the accidents of creation, indulge in the excess of love, look to touch as a way to inspire interest, see no need to submit even if we thieve such reckoning for our own begettings. The perfection of the alive is to be open to all influences of the Adventure that leaves nothing unchanged.
To those of us who are bound by nothing but the creative, physical laws & their mathematical equivalences are like a path through a field of high, burnished grass, wind-whipped as it vanishes into obscure forests that bristle from the backs of bull mountains lurching across a landscape that provokes novel formulations at all points of this bound-upon-its-own-path, sun-inspired planet.
The well trodden provide us a sense of direction. They free us of the need to clear away the immediate & allow us to concentrate on the abstractions of our walk. We can ponder & hypothesize; take measurements & collect data; observe in great detail the great details that crowd in upon our path from every direction of time & space. Paths are determinable; govern by constant use; and once established, controlled by the mathematical elaboration that make pregnant further inferences of our thought & what we learn as we walk this way through the world. Upon a path we know from whence we came & how we got to where we are. The very behavior of a path permits us the prediction & testability of the “good idea”--- the one that tells us where we are going. Paths provide us a way to amplify our focus, a way to elaborate into formal systems our habits of knowing, a way to keep us consistent & not allow us to be ensnared by the brambles of intellectual incoherence that thrust their bull canes out from the banks of swift rivers that heave most of Reality past our padding, into unknown seas.
If not for a path (if not for physical law) our factual endeavors & the makings of coherent scientia would be continually beset by the unexpected that corrupts our explanations; beset by the accidental that returns the intractable to our calculations; beset by the vague that sickens dynamics with instabilities; beset by the injuries to deduction, effect of a lack of direction; beset by endless revisions to our theories because by not having a path, we find ourselves often lost in dark inconsistencies at the fall of a night of haunting contradiction.
Paths become a way for Reality to be reduced to the measurable, the hypothetical & the repeatable piece of “real phenomenon”, and thus the object of our knowing & the confirmation of our path-like axioms, postulates & theorems. Physical Law & Mathematical Truth are the makings of the well-worn through a path-size portion of the world.
We mistake our insignificance for the immensity of a universe. There is no creation that would disdain us as increase as there is no increase but what is born so slight it bears upon our dreams. Our becoming is almost the perfect incremental—be it the shimmering cooperation of an electron, or the congress of dust & gas & cold chaos. It is what each of us needs to find the future. But having been is what makes us understand. Its remembrances provide us not only a "sense" of direction, but a sense of just how immense it really all is! 
The seed left with the wind. The wind that changes everything. The seed fell from the wind. It was covered with dirt so it might cover the earth & change everything. What is there that will not ravish the wind?
M. Fly
Companions are the fundamental unit in the metrics of universal solidarity. They are the means of intimacy & why we copulate. Source of the symbiosis that make us organisms. They are the entities of our adventures. For whose benefit we create. They are the way we seek ourselves because companions incite
understanding. They are the path that people the way through conflict--- the fundamental people of peace. In a world where life is the purpose of learning, and learning is how love labors, companions are the agents of love’s instruction. They may waste like a river & rot into dirt. They may ruin with age & make us anxious of death--- but they are there at our birth and all through our lives they surround us & make us endeavor the world.
The several hundred acres of life that managed to stay hid as "fallow ground", is gone. The ground will remain fallow (no "farming" is anticipated for years), but its is now distressed ground. Harrow ground. Whipped-by-its-leash ground.
Gone are the all the grasses; all the herbaceous flowerings; all the many, many spiders; all the many flies; gophers, field mice & voles; gone are the merlins, the kestrels, the kites, the hawks; gone the skippers & butterflies; gone the jack-rabbit & bush bunny; gone the red wing black bird, the quail, the starling, the robin & swallow; gone the gopher snakes & garters & kings & rattlers; gone the hurrying lizard; gone the many species of beetles; gone the crickets, gone the lacewings; gone the grasshoppers, the leaf hoppers; gone the great blue herons; gone the barn owl, gone the great horned owl; gone the ground squirrel, the red squirrel; gone the bob cat, gone the coyote. Gone the satisfaction of the sun and how our planet endeavors.
The many, many more we cannot name because we do not know—they too are gone. Gone is the path. Gone is the expectation. Gone the intimate splendor. Gone the surprise. Gone the companions!
Gone the companions! Gone.
Our valleys have rivers that waste to the sea for they help to relieve the dirt’s deep excess of the air’s sweeping excess of the sea’s coitus--- our hot Sun satisfied
only in summer.
Plant birth,
that naught mark of history, yet axiomatic “O”
(a priori these wholes that stiffen into memory)
eventuates planet understanding
wherever the limbs cohere & aim—
this tree-simplicity of joining ring to ring
so Spring becomes where love
will bind & increase
tend to green.
If a dictionary is but a mythology of thought
the effort Ezekiel’s taken, must one day be undone
by diffusion of Life Sciences, or selection of skeletal mass
& volume of gray matter, or of other complex vehicles
that bear no resemblance to eye & wheel.
All for naught, the intimacies of God that ravish
the living like a rain received in the ash
of grasslands the wind burns to the ground?
No longer call upon the old way
but cry out its ruination: Death! Death!
the freedom that devastates; entropic
vagueness; the black we mistake--- it wheels & ruts
the path we take; the trail we blaze.
The anonymity makes its possible for us to turn away, justified.
We learn not to understand.
