Here in my hand the universe pulsates.
Here, the stuff of the universe resides.
Here, I hear waveforms, feel rhythms, detect patterns.
All sets are temporary combinations.
The sets of states of energy we call humans, the species Homo sapiens,
Create for themselves selective pattern markers they call history,
Reducing planetary changes within a changing universe down to
Anthropocentric stories told so children can repeat as the truth
Whether they believe the stories or not.
Does the oak tree tell a story to an acorn?
What story does the bee tell the hive?
Sets built upon sets, all interconnected.
Does the Sun tell Jupiter their shared history, why they rotate around each other?
I have no children,
No offspring to perpetuate stories for our ancestral heritage.
But I have nieces, nephews, cousins and friends — mostly younger —
Ones with whom I share stories
Both culturally significant and the stuff of urban legends,
Sometimes with a punchline,
Sometimes with a punch.
I do not expect to be remembered after I’m gone,
Only significant enough for others to recall my face and perhaps my name,
Maybe a biographical detail or two when we meet and talk.
I don’t know much about my bloodline ancestors…
I can trace my family tree, can place family members on parts of Earth
During major anthropocentric historical changes,
But I can’t tell you what they looked like, thought, dreamed, accomplished
Outside of birth, marriage, offspring, divorce, death
(Maybe a few governmental assignments and societal achievements).
I can recite artificial numbers assigned to Earth’s revolution around the Sun:
I can even place at least one ancestor on the North American continent associated with that last number.
But what does it really mean to me?
I mean, really, now, here, at this moment, on the Interwebs, typing electronic poems,
Saying what I want within the confines of polite society?
Do I care about the freedoms that have allowed me to be here?
Do I care about the restrictions that have prevented me from being somewhere else?
I can pretty much travel to any point on this planet and within a few hundred miles of the surface, given enough money, travel visas and space travel training.
Is that not enough freedom?
What more could I possibly want?
The only fears I have are being homeless, broke, feeling incurably painful, locked in a prison with undesirables, socially isolated…
The joys are endless because my view of the universe, including our species, is endlessly entertaining, filling me with happiness.
Dark memories of my youth still pass through my thoughts but I know, because of friends who suffered similar, if not worse childhood conditions, and support me, that the thoughts will fade away and total happiness return.
I live to laugh and have fun, not worrying about a legacy or making historical changes on my own. My impact on the planet is small, completely insignificant on galactic scales and that’s as it is for all of us, despite our storytelling efforts that seem to turn some humans into gods.