“But now her own big brain was urging her to take the polyethylene garment bag
from around a red evening dress in her closet there in Guayaquil, and to wrap it
around her head, thus depriving her cells of oxygen.”
– Kurt Vonnegut, Galapagos
The truth is,
I’ll never have time
to completely appreciate one
of the hundreds of great musicians
who’ve saved and enriched me,
from Handel to Paolo Conte,
or to assist one other person
to hear the little I have heard.
No one has time
to hear all that’s to be heard
to see what’s to be seen
smell what’s to be smelt
taste all the tastes or
feel what each second should be felt.
The truth is,
every damn one of us
is nothing but a little amoeba
with legs and arms and thumbs
and a great big brain,
circling around a random pebble
on the deep bottom of a great ocean,
while up on land Triceratops plows along,
sublimely unaware
of our piddling existence.
The truth is,
the truth is bigger than Triceratops,
bigger than the oceans ten times
ten times themselves,
bigger than 8 turned sideways.
The truth is,
not one of us, get busy as busy
we can, can ever know
what the truth is.
Are you humbled yet?
Are you humbled yet?
