This piece came about after reading a series of postings from a number of sources that stated that anyone lacking belief lacks a sense of wonder. I obviously disagree...
To hear tell by many that do, absent belief tears our psyche’s rug out from under,
eschewing magic and seeking only the rational seen as a colossal blunder,
They smile knowingly that we are accursed and left without a sense of wonder,
(Perhaps all said because our contentment would rend their views asunder?)
One wonders why they can’t be with their faithful knowledge content,
instead of at nonbelievers their spleens to vent,
Best if they had just left us be,
instead of falling to the temptation of insisting on rabid labels for people like me.
Not true of all, who hear the call,
I encounter quite many who lack such gall,
No, it’s usually a more obvious failing,
Amongst a demographic most enamored with Sara Palin.
Really, I say, nothing to rival the words of herders, and merchants, shamans and prophets and mystics quoted chapter, line and verse?
So sad I say, perhaps they should close that book and open their eyes to what surrounds - the real bleeping universe!
Not clear on why reality is considered such a drag,
Or how one becomes engrossed when some tele-evangelist’s tongue does wag,
Nor sure the attraction of diversions built,
on foundations made of generous portions of shame and fear and guilt.
But if appealing to wonder is to be the tack,
You may want to rethink the strategy and take it all back.
For the universe’s wonders do more to inspire,
Than threatening us with brimstone and fire.
Can the imaginings of any man do justice to its truth,
particularly the machinations of ones from our history’s youth?
So sorry, but I’ll take my natural wonders over theirs,
For I’ve taken samples and seen how each compares.
(Truth be told I do find wonder in the practice of belief,
Just not so much from the canon, but more from those who feel it grants relief.
I read the texts and wonder why it sings to some and not to all,
wouldn’t really bother me but for the plans of some who hear the call.)
I change the channel and there they stand, their heads up and down do nod,
swaying bodies, eyes closed with arms stretched up like rabbit ears to god.
Such teaming masses drinking deep from a well I do not see,
makes me wonder if for human kind it’s possible, from superstition to be free.
So many great books and not enough time to read,
Why spend the time over and over studying some ancient creed.
Decades of study, what new will be defined or in the mind emplaced,
Even Julia Childs' steps in but one year can be retraced.
One must work hard to miss the myriad clues to the grandeur of reality,
But since denial was true of the first recruit, I suppose it’s now a part of the oath of fealty.
Sad to me, so many to see, seeking mysteries with nose deep in some sacred text,
and thus they are blind to all the wonder around that hints at true context.
For amongst all that philosophical and mystical chatter,
what can compare to the existence and nature of antimatter?
Peer up into the night sky and travel back in time,
or sit with down turned eyes ensconced within some shrine?
A few lines of vague text from long ago,
or an echo of creation still visible in 400 lines of snow?
The atoms within your very being forged within a star,
What creation lore, from any text, could ever hope to be on that par?
I’d rather be star stuff than any sculptor's clay,
I say again, what miracle in any text more wonder can convey?
Some part of me once lit the sky out shining any heavenly light,
The source of my stardust most certainly did ‘not go quietly into any good night’.
Wonder of amazement provided by the nature for any and all to see,
wondering about the beliefs of men, is more just questioning to me.
Or what wonders can one find amidst the pages of an old book,
more amazing to the mind than the migrations of a chinook!
cryptic codes and metaphors, the truth they do belie,
Me, I find more mystery in the travails of those parr and fry.
A minute of arc in empty space revealing faint milk of trillions of suns as they shine,
Or an ark carried by tribesman some simple rules to enshrine?
Forty thousand swallows, from trial and selection their descent to roost a ghostly dark aurora,
It stirs me more to wonder than a hundred songs from the Torah.
Cataclysms so intense that they outshine a galaxy of stars for a time,
Or tales of pillage and genocides and other manners of crime.
Witness the death of stars and what king’s passing can possibly stir awe and rue,
But many still cling to the notion that only religion can provide our social glue.
No easy answers to reality’s challenges neatly dispensed from pulpit to pew,
even as a child my thoughts involved how best off my paw to chew.
Repetition over and over and over again, stopped time refusing to zip by,
Numbed my senses even more that could the largest TseTse fly.
(The only wonder that I ever did receive,
is when this will end and when can we leave...)
Ironically, like our DNA, religion is composed,
of bits and pieces tried and true, repurposed and transposed.
Some left over Assyrian, four parts Hebrew, six new, with a smattering of Rome does result in a very strange new brew,
wonder is that no one cares, or wouldn’t even if they knew.
Physics, chemistry, biology, mathematics and more, our understanding and wonder do sublime.
To teach our children otherwise would be this nation’s biggest crime.
Scaling walls of superstition, though weak of foundation, seeming higher every year,
returning again to the middle ages is for some our biggest fear.
The record of eons writ large on eroded walls of stone,
or canon prohibitions on the hygienic uses for a bone?
Fossil remains of magnificent beasts etched by wind and rain in an ancient hollow,
or whether his relative or his associates is who we must now follow?
Gossamer roils so beautiful at this distance, not quite vacuum thin,
Nurseries for new stars we see forming from within.
Or graven images of punishment same for crimes big or small,
or with empathy seemingly not even crimes at all?
Two earnest young men in dark suits come by and interrupt our quiet dinner,
Not enough that my food’s getting cold, they must call me a sinner.
‘What would I say if I was to hear that Jesus came to America before ascending to the sky?’
I’d say you’d been smoking too much weed and shouldn’t proselytize when you’re so high.
(the wonder here, that beanbag round not fired into their rear...)
Wonder of amazement provided by the nature for any and all to see,
wondering about the beliefs of men, is more just questioning to me.
What of sects numbering as many as the stars,
Each leaves behind its own subset of mental scars.
Debating hidden meanings in translation of translation of translation of word of mouth passed through many a year,
Since eating blood is taboo and IV fluids can a patient feed, that life saving transfusion must we fear.
Who begat who among a tribe, and a myth where a prophet climbed a mountain and saw a burning tree,
Or the evidence of what begat the tree of life burned into the DNA of every cell within thee?
From a ship’s deck, a flying fish soaring above the waves a hundred feet or more,
or the genealogy of a bunch of shepherds and a wretched record of gore?
Super dense whirling ovoids keeping cadence with precision unmatched,
Or a confusing anthology rewritten many times and just as oft patched?
Two by two, animals fill an ark, the kind of stories told to little shavers,
aren’t up, down, charm, strange, top and bottom far more interesting and adult flavors?
They say that belief and science are the same,
convincing others has become a desperate game,
but while a prophet says to follow me for I am the way to providence,
a scientist says to follow too - but means the chain of evidence.
No sense of wonder no joy of discovery because we don’t believe?
What says it of their faith if about others they must deceive.
Observe, consider, hypothesize, test and then predict,
much more wondrous than to simply follow some prescribed edict.
Curiosity, science sees as no fault,
But in religion it may result in a pillar of salt.
Understanding light unravels no rainbows and steals none of nature’s thunder,
the universe vast and real is full of wonder.
My senses a mere pinhole into an infinite room by any measure,
like Carter’s first torch light glimpse at a pharaoh’s treasure.
Thanks to they not content to rehash old predilections,
on giants shoulders can I stand and see more of nature’s confections.
When some believers speak of wonder I must admit it often tickles my paranoia,
but on further reflection makes me return to the words of Indigo Montoya.
When they speak of wonder with a smile from that passage what one gleans,
I think to myself, “I do not think it means what you think it means...”
Even without the lore my sense of wonder is intact,
For in truth the universe is most amazing in stark fact,
I can accept that these things stir you, and give you peace,
as long as you recognize that nature alone provides me wonders that will never cease.
Here today and then tilled under,
wishing it away is not wonder,
that is reserved for eyes opened wide,
Not denial or wishful hoping from Thanatos to hide.
Contemplate my mortality full of lament and deliverance from death pining?
Does my end mean that I'll stop trying? Life’s not worth defining?
I think not and take comfort in the knowing, even the stars in time will die,
though if they knew, would not stop shining.
eschewing magic and seeking only the rational seen as a colossal blunder,
They smile knowingly that we are accursed and left without a sense of wonder,
(Perhaps all said because our contentment would rend their views asunder?)
One wonders why they can’t be with their faithful knowledge content,
instead of at nonbelievers their spleens to vent,
Best if they had just left us be,
instead of falling to the temptation of insisting on rabid labels for people like me.
Not true of all, who hear the call,
I encounter quite many who lack such gall,
No, it’s usually a more obvious failing,
Amongst a demographic most enamored with Sara Palin.
Really, I say, nothing to rival the words of herders, and merchants, shamans and prophets and mystics quoted chapter, line and verse?
So sad I say, perhaps they should close that book and open their eyes to what surrounds - the real bleeping universe!
Not clear on why reality is considered such a drag,
Or how one becomes engrossed when some tele-evangelist’s tongue does wag,
Nor sure the attraction of diversions built,
on foundations made of generous portions of shame and fear and guilt.
But if appealing to wonder is to be the tack,
You may want to rethink the strategy and take it all back.
For the universe’s wonders do more to inspire,
Than threatening us with brimstone and fire.
Can the imaginings of any man do justice to its truth,
particularly the machinations of ones from our history’s youth?
So sorry, but I’ll take my natural wonders over theirs,
For I’ve taken samples and seen how each compares.
(Truth be told I do find wonder in the practice of belief,
Just not so much from the canon, but more from those who feel it grants relief.
I read the texts and wonder why it sings to some and not to all,
wouldn’t really bother me but for the plans of some who hear the call.)
I change the channel and there they stand, their heads up and down do nod,
swaying bodies, eyes closed with arms stretched up like rabbit ears to god.
Such teaming masses drinking deep from a well I do not see,
makes me wonder if for human kind it’s possible, from superstition to be free.
So many great books and not enough time to read,
Why spend the time over and over studying some ancient creed.
Decades of study, what new will be defined or in the mind emplaced,
Even Julia Childs' steps in but one year can be retraced.
One must work hard to miss the myriad clues to the grandeur of reality,
But since denial was true of the first recruit, I suppose it’s now a part of the oath of fealty.
Sad to me, so many to see, seeking mysteries with nose deep in some sacred text,
and thus they are blind to all the wonder around that hints at true context.
For amongst all that philosophical and mystical chatter,
what can compare to the existence and nature of antimatter?
Peer up into the night sky and travel back in time,
or sit with down turned eyes ensconced within some shrine?
A few lines of vague text from long ago,
or an echo of creation still visible in 400 lines of snow?
The atoms within your very being forged within a star,
What creation lore, from any text, could ever hope to be on that par?
I’d rather be star stuff than any sculptor's clay,
I say again, what miracle in any text more wonder can convey?
Some part of me once lit the sky out shining any heavenly light,
The source of my stardust most certainly did ‘not go quietly into any good night’.
Wonder of amazement provided by the nature for any and all to see,
wondering about the beliefs of men, is more just questioning to me.
Or what wonders can one find amidst the pages of an old book,
more amazing to the mind than the migrations of a chinook!
cryptic codes and metaphors, the truth they do belie,
Me, I find more mystery in the travails of those parr and fry.
A minute of arc in empty space revealing faint milk of trillions of suns as they shine,
Or an ark carried by tribesman some simple rules to enshrine?
Forty thousand swallows, from trial and selection their descent to roost a ghostly dark aurora,
It stirs me more to wonder than a hundred songs from the Torah.
Cataclysms so intense that they outshine a galaxy of stars for a time,
Or tales of pillage and genocides and other manners of crime.
Witness the death of stars and what king’s passing can possibly stir awe and rue,
But many still cling to the notion that only religion can provide our social glue.
No easy answers to reality’s challenges neatly dispensed from pulpit to pew,
even as a child my thoughts involved how best off my paw to chew.
Repetition over and over and over again, stopped time refusing to zip by,
Numbed my senses even more that could the largest TseTse fly.
(The only wonder that I ever did receive,
is when this will end and when can we leave...)
Ironically, like our DNA, religion is composed,
of bits and pieces tried and true, repurposed and transposed.
Some left over Assyrian, four parts Hebrew, six new, with a smattering of Rome does result in a very strange new brew,
wonder is that no one cares, or wouldn’t even if they knew.
Physics, chemistry, biology, mathematics and more, our understanding and wonder do sublime.
To teach our children otherwise would be this nation’s biggest crime.
Scaling walls of superstition, though weak of foundation, seeming higher every year,
returning again to the middle ages is for some our biggest fear.
The record of eons writ large on eroded walls of stone,
or canon prohibitions on the hygienic uses for a bone?
Fossil remains of magnificent beasts etched by wind and rain in an ancient hollow,
or whether his relative or his associates is who we must now follow?
Gossamer roils so beautiful at this distance, not quite vacuum thin,
Nurseries for new stars we see forming from within.
Or graven images of punishment same for crimes big or small,
or with empathy seemingly not even crimes at all?
Two earnest young men in dark suits come by and interrupt our quiet dinner,
Not enough that my food’s getting cold, they must call me a sinner.
‘What would I say if I was to hear that Jesus came to America before ascending to the sky?’
I’d say you’d been smoking too much weed and shouldn’t proselytize when you’re so high.
(the wonder here, that beanbag round not fired into their rear...)
Wonder of amazement provided by the nature for any and all to see,
wondering about the beliefs of men, is more just questioning to me.
What of sects numbering as many as the stars,
Each leaves behind its own subset of mental scars.
Debating hidden meanings in translation of translation of translation of word of mouth passed through many a year,
Since eating blood is taboo and IV fluids can a patient feed, that life saving transfusion must we fear.
Who begat who among a tribe, and a myth where a prophet climbed a mountain and saw a burning tree,
Or the evidence of what begat the tree of life burned into the DNA of every cell within thee?
From a ship’s deck, a flying fish soaring above the waves a hundred feet or more,
or the genealogy of a bunch of shepherds and a wretched record of gore?
Super dense whirling ovoids keeping cadence with precision unmatched,
Or a confusing anthology rewritten many times and just as oft patched?
Two by two, animals fill an ark, the kind of stories told to little shavers,
aren’t up, down, charm, strange, top and bottom far more interesting and adult flavors?
They say that belief and science are the same,
convincing others has become a desperate game,
but while a prophet says to follow me for I am the way to providence,
a scientist says to follow too - but means the chain of evidence.
No sense of wonder no joy of discovery because we don’t believe?
What says it of their faith if about others they must deceive.
Observe, consider, hypothesize, test and then predict,
much more wondrous than to simply follow some prescribed edict.
Curiosity, science sees as no fault,
But in religion it may result in a pillar of salt.
Understanding light unravels no rainbows and steals none of nature’s thunder,
the universe vast and real is full of wonder.
My senses a mere pinhole into an infinite room by any measure,
like Carter’s first torch light glimpse at a pharaoh’s treasure.
Thanks to they not content to rehash old predilections,
on giants shoulders can I stand and see more of nature’s confections.
When some believers speak of wonder I must admit it often tickles my paranoia,
but on further reflection makes me return to the words of Indigo Montoya.
When they speak of wonder with a smile from that passage what one gleans,
I think to myself, “I do not think it means what you think it means...”
Even without the lore my sense of wonder is intact,
For in truth the universe is most amazing in stark fact,
I can accept that these things stir you, and give you peace,
as long as you recognize that nature alone provides me wonders that will never cease.
Here today and then tilled under,
wishing it away is not wonder,
that is reserved for eyes opened wide,
Not denial or wishful hoping from Thanatos to hide.
Contemplate my mortality full of lament and deliverance from death pining?
Does my end mean that I'll stop trying? Life’s not worth defining?
I think not and take comfort in the knowing, even the stars in time will die,
though if they knew, would not stop shining.
