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His(David Bohm) passion for truth carried him wherever it might possibly find nourishment, and his theories consequently reflect tremendous breadth and depth in accounting for a wide range truth that stems from a diverse spectrum of epistemologies.

The 3Ps blog is dedicated to exploring cosmology, quantum physics, and the domains of the very small and the very large with poetic expression of science concepts, philosophy, and history of ideas at the emergent consciousness level by using the "words of science."

Out from here
near the edge of the universe
clear of culture clutter
it's syllables my dear
wandering where
cosmic attractions
search for...the rest
The hologram universe

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Thursday, April 05, 2007

Prairie Soil Tells the Story

everything appropriate to its time

Like a summer mirage
January’s frost heaving restoration
is not what it seems,
dew worm castings tell the story.
What was once loess,

now more or less
food for the hermaphrodites
ruling the underworld.
Under neglected cemeteries,
replenished by wasting limestones

a caliche layer grows,
marking rotting parasites
who gave us life,
taught us well,
left for good.

Worms don’t rely on humans,
they reclaim the prairie
claimed for us.
Cold blooded they descend
to rise for service—

reborn stewards
who believe Ecclesiastes.
Whatever comes after, comes.
After plows fail to bring the rain,
frost gives way to dust.

When I think about how this poem came about, I recall how I tried to push the lines into an alternate arrangement, but it would not go. I was quite unaware what was going on although I did see that there were 25 lines. Ah 25 that would be 5x5, but that didn’t seem to make any sense. It was then that I realized that was it, exactly: the order humans had attempted to force on the plains was artificial.

Several weeks later, as I contemplate this poem I still find 25 to be enigmatic. Surely 5 is mystical number and squares (5x5) are like sections on the prairie landscape, but 25? What is that? A quarter, perhaps. Yes that is it, the last line is like death but begs the question of what is next? A quarter only part of a whole. The theme dwells on the soil where the real story is to be found. Are we, the narrators of this story, latter day prairie investigators who are digging through the artifacts like worms? I propose that is left to others to figure out.

You see a poem takes on a life of its own. It wrests free from the poet and uses the poet to convey a message that must be teased from the words and form. Poets often say that they must leave it to others to figure out what it means.

That is pretty incredible and I have great respect for something that is much greater than I. It is tantamount to being part of a secret order. In a secret order no one knows all of the secret, it is held in trust among the group that makes the whole much larger than the parts. The initiation ceremony is a process that one goes through simply by practice. Practice at a higher level, beyond going through the motions while that is certainly part of it, but by study and contemplation, humility and submission to the unknown, openness to the unknown, and I am sure, much more that I have yet to discover.

When I think about this poem, I was called to write it.

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