Life cannot exist, in a sterile environment. It waits, for the dust and the breath of God, and then...it germinates. Life needs dirt and grit and filth, to breed and bring new life...and when, it's going good, it starts to kill itself. What is this phenomena?
Life itself, is life...yet with complexity, comes mind...a filtering selectivity. Thought, another kind of life, unseen...with its complex and unknown germination's, vies with 'life, the flesh'. Who are we to know, it's needs? Why, we are all it needs...for we are more, than all we know. In sum, the higher end.
Yet, we will never take our body there, thus, man a billion perverse ways, to end biology...finds he. Wars, and bugs, a host of things, taking all we have, down to the bone...till flesh, consumed, is gone.
Then, what of us, 'a thought', be eaten by a moth, a maggot in its mouth, a bullet in its brain? No! Never happen. Our thought, and every record of our journey, and our fate, our good and shame, from life to everlasting, framed...encapsulated, in an adamant egg, 'soul, guarded, by a golden dragon.
Told, I, you...before. This, the 'escape pod', from the lives we've ruined...pawned, by some, for dust!
Adieu...
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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