Cosmosis

"And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Hamlet Act 1, scene 5, 159–167

The globe is a microcosm of life;
a veritable encyclopaedia of ideas,
Oxford and Larousse dictionaries worth of words,
all of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations,
and a compendium of knowledge worthy of the Smithsonian Institution, British Museum, Hermitage, Newberry Library, Bodleian, and Alexandria.

Why are so few ideas acceptable, why so few words in use?

We are woven into Life’s structure;
animal, vegetable, mineral
Air and Water our warp and weft.

We are enmeshed in sundry networks
of nerves, veins, and mass.

We are formed from and into each other,
stardust to ashes, mineral to sand, tears to oceans,
labouring from birth to last laboured breath.

How is it we gather like magnets around iron;
remaining in opposition to any other cluster?

Why is each sub-group convinced of their superior rightness
the unfailing Truth of their own righteous beliefs?

If Humankind is animal what says we are better than the other beasts?

If vegetation grows towards the light, bathes its skin in rain and dew,
appreciates words and music how are they lesser lifeforms?

If we are all made of minerals what makes our compilation worthier than the content of salt and sand?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 13 January 2016