Friday, October 9, 2009

Why can't man be in awe of anything?

Today, October 9, 2009, NASA bombed the moon so they could find water. Bad move. They might destabilize this fragile satellite, which some say is nearly hollow. The moon is a perfect sphere. Our ancestors worshiped the moon, named after the alchemical goddess Luna. The moon reflects for us the majesty of our existence, night by night. Bombing it is a desecration with grave unintended consequences.

On Sept. 27, 2003 the asteroid designated SQ222 passed within 54,700 miles of earth. It wasn’t detected until after it hurtled by and only then was it discovered that it was the closest known fly by of a life-ending asteroid. Some astronomers believe the moon’s gravitational pull had deflected SQ222, as it had deflected others for millions of years. This spawned a great deal of conjecture as to how important the moon is to human life. Most humans, however, hardly noticed. The incident was barely reported in the media. Then NASA decided to send a missile into it. This begs the question: can’t we be in awe of anything? Especially our own destruction? Is this some kind of a Cosmic Joke?

Caught between trines & transits

I felt a planetary pull like

a pin ball bouncing between

karma and gravity.

Just learned that life-ending debris

had sped by earth and we never saw

it – like a splitter cut fastball

thrown by Rivera to close out

the inning.

No wiser from our brush with

fate we continue on, gone badly wrong.

Our bakers don’t stay for long

when they visit the cookie dough.

Why don’t they

take us back to the factory to

modify the recipe?

We’ve been trying to leave

the planet ever since we

could stand, now we act

like we belonged here.

This planet will survive us puny

interlopers, even when it becomes

barren rock, albeit in a less pristine state

than when we found it.

We failed as the planet’s steward

because we grew tired of it.

Such is the life of an human

organism

made of little more

than space garbage.

Our prison is this planet if not

our skin. Inmates all of us

who suffer themselves then recycle

into organic compost, just so

much clay trying to trying to differentiate

from other corrosive bits of cosmic

sludge that we either

fuck, eat or kill.

And like the Mayans,

who never came back from lunch break,

all we will leave behind

is a calendar.