One of Many Mortal Beacons

by Greg Steorts

Here I am, or at least seem to be;
Standing upon loaned feet from matter’s vast trove of building blocks;
Gesticulating,  enunciating  these garbled sounds,
With a tongue no less borrowed than these feet,

Jostling a liquid crystal brain above them with relative ease, as though I belong here.
My words; inert aural symbols, pointing to meaning,
While possessing none, in and of themselves,
To fill this vast space between us;

That space which seems small, yet is, in truth such an immense chasm,
For our respective definitions merge on only very rare occasions indeed.
We are separate, even as our bodies co-mingle their quantum components,
Despite all rumors of a Oneness which binds us all.

Palpably separate and distinct are we all,
Even as we are woven from the same particulate medium.
That rumored Oneness must remain only theoretical, for now.
And so irony is my best friend, with metaphor my other close companion;

They understand me better than most,
Requiring no templates or torturous explanations.
They comprehend my ephemeral nature,
My sharp, biting wit and laser beam gaze which sees through walls.

Is it really so strange for me to want to imagine that you hear me?
For it is a lonely business to walk the universe alone;
A flesh-bound marker with thoughts and feelings known only to me, yet shared by all.
I am only one of many mortal beacons, expressing words that fail spectacularly.

Greg Steorts; artist, philosopher, seeker and admirer of simple truths, collector of rich, poignant ironies, fashioner of life preservers forged of buoyant sarcastic wit. 53 years now into my mission as an incarnate human, I now possess the wisdom to fully appreciate the courage it takes every soul to sign onboard for an amnesia-steeped sojourn into the sordid human condition, within the confines of a klutzy, watery meat suit.

I hereby salute ALL mission members; whether surfing sublime waves of purest light with dazzling aplomb, or slogging through swamps of tepid murk in totally inappropriate footwear. Take heart! ALL rivers return to the sea, and ALL mission members eventually return Home to Love!

Rock on, deep space voyagers!

The Art of Greg Steorts