The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

The quantum physicists talk to us about other worlds — some of them must be almost identical to ours — and in some, our counterparts have done different things — taken different paths — in every choice, a world unfolding, and somewhere, out there, or next to us, in a greater world than the one we know, hypothetical observers observe with peacock eyes the larger picture — he’s a what he’s a what he’s a newspaper man — shall we call these observers angels? The angels of our better nature — the consolation of the disappointed — wheels within wheels and everytime a bell rings an angel gets his wings and if you clap your hands and pray real hard Tinkerbell will rise from the dead (dead for our sins, nonbelievers every one) where do we go? what shall we do? the possibility presents itself that there is more to our lives than we see — the Great Deep Mystery, that God Was Born in History Two Thousand and Eight Years Ago (I don’t believe it of course, why would God be Jewish?) the Incarnation, but what of the Daily Incarnations, the Little Mysteries, the blood that makes the great journey from the top of our heads to the bottom of our toes, the great dance of breathing we enact with the grass we tread on and the trees we walk beneath — Go, what will you do with your live? What have you already done? Who have you touched? Who have you saved? Who is out there in the night carrying a secret torch for you? The love we create, the Good, not the God, twist around, unfolding like an origami flower, paper airplanes ride along the air currents, swallows dive above and below, surprised, and in the planes, I sit, and stare out at the universe and think “This, this is something new, this is something new that humans do, fly, and though I will die, I have flown up into the very heavens and looked out upon endless cloud landscapes and that is enough, that is sufficient, I am in love with the world and it is all very beautiful and in these quiet moments I am able to see it and then when I begin jousting with the others — my bloodkin and my friends — the quantum wavefunction collapses, Time grows grey and mournful, and the weight of unrealized possibilities dangles up above, bursting with gravity and potential energy —

A bell is ringing. An angel flies. Time is the ocean we swim in, together.