The Lost Realist


The word of God
October 16, 2008, 7:54 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Found this beautiful poem recently, here. It expresses most scientists’ world-view, and might I add, mine too, so beautifully and evocatively that I just had to post it here. In today’s world of fanatical religiousness and the upcoming stupidity of fanatical atheism, this poem is a welcome relief.

From desert cliff and mountaintop we trace the wide design,
Strike-slip fault and overthrust and syn and anticline…
We gaze upon creation where erosion makes it known,
And count the countless aeons in the banding of the stone.
Odd, long-vanished creatures and their tracks & shells are found;
Where truth has left its sketches on the slate below the ground.
The patient stone can speak, if we but listen when it talks.
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the rocks.

There are those who name the stars, who watch the sky by night,
Seeking out the darkest place, to better see the light.
Long ago, when torture broke the remnant of his will,
Galileo recanted, but the Earth is moving still
High above the mountaintops, where only distance bars,
The truth has left its footprints in the dust between the stars.
We may watch and study or may shudder and deny,
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the sky.

By stem and root and branch we trace, by feather, fang and fur,
How the living things that are descend from things that were.
The moss, the kelp, the zebrafish, the very mice and flies,
These tiny, humble, wordless things — how shall they tell us lies?
We are kin to beasts; no other answer can we bring.
The truth has left its fingerprints on every living thing.
Remember, should you have to choose between them in the strife,
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote life.

And we who listen to the stars, or walk the dusty grade
Or break the very atoms down to see how they are made,
Or study cells, or living things, seek truth with open hand.
The profoundest act of worship is to try to understand.
Deep in flower and in flesh, in star and soil and seed,
The truth has left its living word for anyone to read.
So turn and look where best you think the story is unfurled.
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the world.

— Catherine Faber



Mind
October 14, 2008, 6:22 am
Filed under: Philosophy, Poems

A stone falls in a pond,
Ripples,
Some large, some tiny,
So many.

A hammer hits a piano string,
So many tones,
Some high, some low,
Trapped in time’s flow.

The weave of a cloth,
So intricate,
Threads here, there,
Meandering to a plan sublime.

Insects buzz around a light,
So beautiful,
Ripples on a shimmering mess,
Trapped in a plan divine.

The pattern matters,
The substrate does not.

The mind is like this,
Complex, beautiful, ephemeral,
Rippling thoughts, shimmering dreams,
Does it matter, in gray matter or what?