That Damned Third Dimension

Time doesn't just heal all wounds. It makes them possible.

I'm not wounded any more than anyone else tonight, but with the state of Standard Physics in limbo, I've been taking age-old maxims and turning them in on themselves. If physics can't stay constant, we might as well relate them to things as unstable as emotions, life, and death. Weird how they still make sense.

With these words we have, we can prove anything. Here, I'll prove it:

If everything we can measure in the known universe has been a farce since we gave them numbers, maybe it's time that we stop looking for constants. Entertain the thought that it's all just clumps of random stuff swirling around us, and that matter doesn't have to have mass.

It simply has to matter.

If dark matter is anti-stuff, maybe all we have to do is stick our heads in a cloud of it to understand what it is, or isn't. Anti-matter is a tricky term, though, because everything has some value if it's measurable, right? So what about thoughts? Perhaps, in the new model of Physics, thoughts will have as much mass as planets do, because they all matter.

If it were only so simple, right? If all we had to do was tack one letter on the end of a word to balance the equation!
And to think, we created that word, and accidentally gave it two meanings. Was it an accident?
And, think: how many of us believe an all-knowing, omnipotent being gave us the power to give words meaning?

This is where it turns in on itself: the believers are correct because they are sovereign, and their lives are given meaning because they're sure that it does. Though they've tricked themselves into believing that they've received the meaningful life, it does not make them stupid. It demonstrates the power of belief to the rest of us, and I believe that that power is much more important than the atheists give it credit for.

If everything is star-stuff, and if each of us is able to believe whatever beautiful maxim we convince ourselves of -- whether it's the power of a bearded sky man or that we've managed to flag down and measure the fastest thing in the universe -- why, then, can't the universe do the same? It's a double standard to disagree.

Our universe is an absolute mystery -- every time we think we've measured something real, every time we've found another piece of the puzzle, it's a lie. With all scientific facts and theories compiled, it's just as factual to say that we exist in the belly of a whale. Or, more appropriately, in the belly of something so much bigger than us, we don't have rulers long enough to measure it.

In this brave, new, post-modern universe, in which our sacred constant number of light has fallen under a shadow of doubt, we'd do well to note that everything worked more or less the same before we disproved ourselves. Isn't it weird how unsettling it is to know that science can give us a number that fits everything we know, but still can't explain everything we see?

Similarly, we'd also do well to note that no one can give something value except for the sovereign who's sure it exists.

"Sure."
That word is proof. If every human on earth were to be sure of the same concept, in unison, we would be able to prove it, because we create the tools that measure it. We could do anything. The joy of worldwide agreement, on anything, would create too much optimism and energy for our lonely and fragile bodies to contain. We'd probably materialize a new life-form within our own collective, universal belly.

A life-form inside of us, but not of us, that will label each of our billions of harmonious, living bodies a "galaxy;" each of our organs a "star;" each of our cells a "planet."

And the piles of dead skin strewn across what we long ago labeled, "earth"...they'll call those, "dark matter," because they can't fathom the thought that something so big could be alive, much less capable of dying. It's a simple concept, but they're expecting it to be far more complicated. They won't figure it out until all rules and constants have been destroyed, and all possibilities exposed.

The human state of celestial harmony can't last forever, though, because nothing living does. And the second that one of our billions is no longer sure of what "sure" is, the critters within us will be forced to question the few, constantly-changing puzzle pieces they've been able to reach.

And they will wonder the same things I'm wondering right now: Are all the pieces even out there? If they are, who's assuming they fit?

Why assume we aren't part of the puzzle?

Many life-forms have died, and will die, in inevitably endless attempts at species-wide agreement over a single word; be it "light," "self," or "God." The slain bodies will decompose, and the wind will carry the remnants into their universe. The anti-matter will accumulate, composing the very substance that evades explanation within their rigid set of rules -- the ever-elusive Dark Matter.

What if the true dimensions of the universe are locked inside of every tool, word, or language we've ever created and attributed meaning to? And, because they are man-made, we subconsciously disqualified them? Does that mean our species has a self-confidence issue? Well, if the organs in my body couldn't agree on the meaning of "keep Christie alive," I'd have a lot more than a self-confidence issue on my hands. In short, we disqualify our ingenuities because we know they're inadequate, and we know we can't get anything done until we can all point in the same direction.

All of that jargon will be lost on the life-forms inside of us, though -- it will mean nothing to them, because they do not agree with us. We are not their God. We don't know their answers, and if we did, we wouldn't understand them. Even if we are billions of enlightened entities living in harmony because we all finally agreed on the meaning of one thing, we still won't see what's inside of us.

Why? Well, after we've solved our own problems, we'll have better things to do. We won't have any reason to look anywhere, except out, out, out -- onward, towards the non-existent corners of the universe; stretching and creating more canvas as we see fit. We won't worry about the belly that contained us for so long, because their meanings were expanding far into the unknown, long before our species stood upright.

Yet, Damn.

a battle of the young
versus the old
the driving force
versus the settler
is it good or bad?
holy or evil?
is it wholesome versus derelict?
those words are too long and don't say enough.

how can i describe the parallel adoration and
agony of interacting with a
soul, sidelined as it solders to mine,
alloy of learning and passion,
the combination stronger than
either alone, before?

and after, how the evaporation leaves my eyes just enough
cracked
to watch you leave

peacefully, without regret,
i assure you i will not resent you for it,
yet, damn.

It's Like

In the struggle to relate, to describe, something to another person, I constantly use similes. It's like this, like that. Like something you've experienced that might be, even remotely similar to what I'm describing.
The person I'm talking to makes all the difference in deciding what will best relate MY experience. Intrinsically, it's not their experience, and might never be, so it's my duty to communicate it as clearly as I can.
If it's my bartender, who I usually don't know very well, I'll use the least generic universal I can think of.
But if it's someone I know well, I'll say something like, "I imagine it felt similar to when your mother had to cash out her life savings to buy you a car," or, "Pile up everything you've ever experienced in your life -- your relationships, your adrenaline rushes, your darkest moments -- and pour something very flammable on them. Casually light a cigarette with a match, and throw that lit match on that pile. That's what it felt like."

Sometimes I slip up and try to do that to people I don't know very well. I wonder if they understand anyway.