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By simply refusing to exist.
In a blind rage
I splinter my heart into kindling,
Pour gasoline,
Set the whole mess aflame,
Watch as it burns to ashes.
But it keeps on beating,
It keeps on beating in the darkness.
There is nothing to do but sit.
Stare into the void.
Read the blanks on the empty page,
Over and over,
Till they form a pattern,
Till the repetition yields a meaning:
“Let there be darkness, for there is.”
There is darkness.
There is darkness.
There is darkness.
All there is, is darkness.
Until slowly, slowly
Contours form,
A faint outline emerges:
“Let there also be light.”
Realities
we create a thin veneer of simplicity and predictability
over terrifyingly unmanageable chaos
and call it reality.
Anastasya Shepherd
We call it reality
And consider the matter settled,
So we can turn our attention to
Making sandwiches for the school lunchbox,
Submitting the quarterly forecast report,
Walking the dog,
Writing the thank you note.
At least, that is how it is
For some of us,
Some of the time.
We collect data about it,
Quantify the uncertainty
Of our measurements,
Publish papers in academic journals.
We put ironic quotation marks
Around its edges,
Take selfies.
We blaze with anger about what it is,
Emblazon on our banners
What we want it to be.
We split into tribes, go to war,
Mangle and kill each other
Under the pretext
That there is one right way,
One right answer to every question
About the definition
Of a pin, a dance, an angel;
About the way to count how many…
We beat our heads against it,
Search for the path, the mantra, the koan,
Meditate, keep diaries,
Create sand mandalas of great beauty,
Sweep all the colors together,
Let the river carry them away
As we fall into insanity,
Rise to enlightenment,
Or the other way around.
We pick it up like a toy, a ball.
We run across sunlit grass,
Laughing,
Tossing it back and forth.
We forget it in the gathering dusk
Under the lilac bushes.
It is time to go back in,
To get some sleep.
At least, that is how it is
For some of us,
Some of the time.
Constructivism
Proof by construction is the path
That God Himself has set in math.
To prove that chaos can be transformed
Into a world, the world was formed.
A choir of angels came to be
Singing: “Hosanna! QED!”
But man, a thing of clay and dust,
Had little wit and too much trust.
Soon he was fooled and led astray.
And we, his children, to this day
Remain a weak and bounded race.
Induction for the finite case
Is all we do, till in the end
Each one must meet the final N.
But there is yet a baser proof.
It’s branded by a fiery hoof.
Proof by negation seeks to alter
The very truth. And should you falter,
And in your pride or desperation
Seek to invoke the dark negation,
Repent! Or you should ever rue
Your “Let the opposite be true”.
Double Negative
