STARDATE 3141590.2

My Homo Sapiens Sapiens:

Winter is y-cumen in, lhude sing, cucu!  Groweth fyre and bloweth wind and spring’th snowe nu!

There is nothing more splendid than knowing you are not alone! You are moths to flame, flapping in for a landing together, ready to watch the winter swoop in.  The sun sets early now and you stand and watch it slip away.  The last clouds fade to grey and you turn to each other as temporary suns.

Do not fear the darkness!  Turn your face to the second light. 

STARDATE 3141592.6

Tetragrammaton:

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on this New Land as it is in heaven.  Give us this day our air to breathe and forgive our trespasses, as we are powerless to forgive ourselves.  Lead us not to tempt the fate of our elders, but deliver us, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and glory.  Amen.

Lord, can you hear my words across the milky sky?  A black hole can swallow light, it can swallow my sight and my sighs.  Are you in your parlor now, the great Tromba Domine pressed up to your ear, funneling in the wails?  We are sinners, and the cries we have caused may have deafened you.  Do you despair?

Do you remember Ludwig van Beethoven, Lord?  He lived just for a click of your elegant fingers.  He stood in his house and stamped the floor and raged, rocking the beams until his body felt a narrow quiver of the music he imagined.  His ear trumpet never did any good, and he died deaf as a stone.  He was a madman, Father, but generations ago, in the Old Land, they scratched his music on to a sheet of gold and launched it in to space.  They shed tears of joy, Great One, for his music to sail out of our fingers, millions of parsecs across the void.

Lord, I do not even know your true name.  I’ve always wanted to ask you, does your cobblestone walk have life seething out of every crack?  Does your front door sing on its hinges, and does the smell of wool and apples fill the entryway?  If I see your home before I’m a dead man, Lord, I will line up my shoes in the corner and tiptoe to the window, and see what the sunlight looks like from the other side of the glass.  I’ll cross my legs on the rug and listen to the reverberations of the galaxy, flowing out of your Tromba Domine.  Somewhere in the cacophony, I’ll hear Beethoven’s music, and I’ll watch your eyes to see how it feels when a creation understands its creator.

                                                                        Homo Sapiens Sapiens