Mystery

  
Mystery
 
“There once was a creator…” the myths of yore began,
“And then came the creation…” and so the stories ran.
But whence this said creator – and where she now is hidden,
Were questions sans an answer – and often were forbidden.

The fabric of the universe is a thing of change and flow
And yet there are the matrices, the substances and more.
So through the ages men and women asked themselves “Who did it?”
That mystery of Genesis persists, though some dismiss it.

For now we're told, "Creators – and creation too – is out."
So these are now forbidden.  We can question, we can shout –
But for doing so,  we’re punished – and we're banished, as of old.
There’s no burning or beheading – but we do as we are told.

And so our new religions replace the ones before.
But we wonder – are we clearer now or clouded even more?
There’s energy, there’s matter, there is space and there is time,
There is ignorance and knowledge – and these beings that can rhyme…
 
When the fabric was being woven, who was handling then the loom?
Was the weaving automated?  Was there no one in the room?
It’s the same for all creation, including you and I.
We wove ourselves together. Don’t ask me how or why.
 
And when you’d been assembled, so your parts were all in place,
There came to be this person, with a name and with a face.
But if I were to wander, from cell to cell within,
To look where you are hiding, I’d find there’s no one in.
 
“Is so and so within you?” I might ask a working cell.
And if that cell could answer, what story would it tell?
It does not know this person, of which it is a part.
And neither do your organs – your liver, brain or heart.
 
This "I" is thinking, typing – but where does it reside?
We say – “within a cranium” – but no one’s there inside.
A giant swarm of cells there is, and each is humming low,
But where, in this, the “I” is hid, who dares to say they know?
  
For how does “who” arise from “what”?  What makes the infant scream
Her “Me, me, me!” and thump her chest?  Are “I” and “you” a dream?
No border can be drawn indeed, no line in time or space,
Where I or you begin from naught or end without a trace.
 
And yet we’re each convinced of “I” and “you” and “he” and “she” –
The beings that appear to have the right to persons be –
In human form or animal, perhaps as plants as well –
Or robed as gods and goddesses that in our heavens dwell.
  
So surely, to dismiss the "I" and "you" and all the rest
As fictions mere, shows disrespect and may not be the best.
But then the question still remains – of what, this "I" and "you"?
Is “spirit” then the answer?  I will leave that knot for you.

But do not swallow answers pat – the old ones or the new.
There’s more in this than meets the eye – or so’s my humble view.
The question here is deep, I think – yet usually avoided.
It’s worth our while to think on it – and not to simply void it.
 
2015 January 19th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York