their cosmic discourse
determines the fate
of vulnerable babes;
Each armed with a few trillion tiny cellular receptors
Each cell with its calibrated micro-antennae
tuned into the emptiness
of deep space
and infinite time.
their discordant orbital harmonies
shout with power of Wagner,
resonate with intensity of Stravinsky,
chant with the mystery of Grieg,
orchestrate with the majesty of Tchaikovsky,
vibrate with the magic of chanting Gyuto monks.
Their spherical vibrations
pulsate ultra-low frequencies of life;
broadcast unique moments
of patterned universality
while mysterious, invisible rays
from omnipresent space and time
make magic here on Earth.
Meanwhile, with naive determination
I carefully disassemble my radio
looking for the music inside;
for I find only pieces of mechanical things.
I cannot find even one tiny shred of evidence
of the wondrous symphony
that moments before
came from within its plastic shell.
Resistors, capacitors, semiconductors, and wires:
these magical artifacts offer no clues;
This electro-mechanical mechanical universe
is not a map that points the way
to the magic of song.
Elsewhere, with the very same determination
scientists dissect animals
looking for the source of life,
and take apart the human mind
searching for the phantom captain,
while the obvious truth
is staring us in the face:
life is everywhere
and consciousness does not
originate within the brain.
Plants and animals are bioradios
optimized for the broadcasts of life;
our nervous systems
are energy transformers;
our electro-chemical brains
are organic televisions,
each playing its own variation
of the inter-planetary music of the spheres,
each playing its unique pattern
of cosmic consciousness.