This Delicate Mosaic

It would be tempting to look upon this delicate mosaic, this tapestry of existence in all it’s grandeur and minutiae, this precarious threading together of causality through warp and weft of time and space, of longitudes and latitudes with its emerging patterns,

colour, texture, sound, to see this little blue marble as a marvel.

It may very well be a marvel but to those who look down upon us with envy and those who look down upon those who look down upon them and us with love there is more indication than evidence, this is more the mewling and puking of infancy than it is of the sagest  specimens of maturity.

That in this weaving together of concrete and consciousness eternal patterns begin to  emerge, like ripples in water and spider webs and rhythms of night and like insects sawing their legs.

We plunge through time while time plunges through us

They see us in this sandbox, precocious children with toy trucks and cars and dolls and mud pies magpies and maggots.

Loved in spite of our stink. Loved in spite of our rage.

Loved in spite of what we are, knowing what we are to become.

Derek Earl Houghton