My Carbon Footsteps

My Carbon Footsteps L. Otto 12-09-09

We may learn that it was always about the content and not the program. That the drive and goal, the soft more than the hardware, the message that precedes the medium and merges with it.

One day looking back at our computer age our machines will seem like horse and buggies against the automobile, jet planes, and global satellites where even quantum computation is a bottleneck in its day, one atom an amplifying transistor.

Even that which suggests what we already vaguely feel and half are sure we know that our organic community can directly link to the mainframe and each other, intuitions in invisibility, influence and order our widening growth and understanding of space and time will be refined and surpassed such that our haunting virtual myths some visit and heed or for to seek rest in what was once our compassionate and fickle gods and secret magic gardens we make manifest.

Sheets of graphite doped with Fullerenes the circuits and detectors of forces higher Casimir. Between us a portal divided yet the same for touch, we flanged and focused multi-dimensional animal star ships of bursting symmetry - so as our life is organized within so too that kingdom among us- beyond entanglement our active aromatic scents that draws together cells, cull and seeks and sorts them out to heal some spark fallen through the cracks of our fragile whole. Our procession that braids and winds our own and the universe's staircase ever new with less of loss our dance.

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The quasic sun has mysteries to reveal still. Beware of false shoots and ladder totalities held complete. We of Earth of grains of dust in our search for wholeness and certainty of survival imagine her alive. Earth and her Wiccan sister, hot Venus, close up, contain and part the clams, drill and rake the oysters, her vanity of cultured pearls in the quasi crystal symmetry of starfish, her Spirograph quintessence full of pentagrams. Between the hottest place, our star and the coldest in the deep poles of our hollow moon the skeptics and the believers oscillate in the climate of new truths.

Our double planet and home feeling alone, abandoned by the father Sun and frigid rocky shore tide flow of the maternal moon, chaotic balance together that we recall the family tree and early water stars that light up in glow worm unison. Whiskers iron the Saturn rings as we keep anniversaries of former times together beyond the umbilical, the parasites of love and dreams awaken in their environs and are freely given milk, take on new colors of spectra beyond our time's age of astrological charts and alchemy of our soul that the sun in his carbon cycle explains the energy and lifespan. Did we not once believe it worked by hearth fire, chemistry not enough so short that lifetime?

His Ouroboros sheets lase and pinch the bells of solar wind. His dynamo and cyclone pocks in spin. His wide gaseous belt flows faster at the equator than the twists and shifts of poles. Slipping skin around his skeleton his moving crust and so called "axis of evil" - three lobes the peeling as if an orange or in his aspect to everywhere his place declared in bell and the minimum of electric quantization of base ball curves and time's direction mono polar.

His jets go through spiral shells in graded steps, some ratcheted. His heart his own reckoning with his inner child and wrestling with angels. He among the billions if failed can outshine them as all souls of celestial fires who obey , some out of sync, psychotic breakdown.

He endures longer than what we now understand of lifetimes in harmony with our wider view and world. The coral and the coal vie for the sinking seas and Earth's children is her most rarefied atmosphere as His stardust builds diamonds coming alive while rains down her cometary waters the wellspring opens out of spirit from within. In our time's closing November and its helping, healing hands of soot and balms we make and measure in this miracle of sun stored wheat and wind and water.