I
sit here and venture the why,
The
where and the what,
Who
are we really, and how.
We
are the Golden-Hearted.
We
originate from particle matter,
Though
too infinitesimal to perceive,
Too
expansive to comprehend.
We
are creations of the universe
With
its endlessly flowing darkened abyss.
We
have grown, developed, evolved,
For
centuries into these imperfect beings,
With
these imperfect bodies
And
these imperfect minds.
There
is no question of our flaws.
The
drive, the motivation, the explanation.
Power,
said Nietzsche.
Wealth,
said Marx.
Faith,
said Kierkegaard.
Connection,
said Hegel.
Dear
Hegel, I do concur.
Connections
are the life and blood
Of
that internal drive,
Until
death, eternal.
I
sat there watching him, incomplete,
He
twisted around and our eyes met.
Don’t
we all wait for that moment?
Through
our gaze was understanding,
A
connection long awaited,
Impossible
to find.
Dare
I say, I fell from that dark abyss,
The
particles of the universe reformed
And
I was reborn, finally, I was here.
Dare
I say, I found love?
I
was living, presently, and forever after.
Experiences
find meaning in the
Connections,
bonds, the ties we make.
We
must find an ideology, a belief,
A
concept, a person, a group that
We
understand; the link must be made,
Lest
we disintegrate into particles
Of
the universe, never truly having lived,
For
there would be nothing holding us here.
Connections
ground us, keep us stable.
They
keep us human.
We
are the Golden-Hearted,
Shining,
a marvelous effect from
The
center of our imperfect chests.
We
are here and we are living.
