Figs Boson

As we strive to gather the produce of this life, as we search the universe to catch a glimpse of some Higgs-boson spark of creation. . . while we struggle to defeat the deteriorations of death, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or heaven’s gate or hell’s bells and/or whatever else is out there to spoil our well-intended plans of mice and men. . . while toiling, as we traipse along these ancient paths of destiny and chance, we find ourselves blessed in the gathering of the figs that fall from trees that line our chosen paths of chance, dealing with stumbled-upon happenstances and destinies formerly traveled by the patriarchs and matriarchs of long, long ago, dog-paddling to outdo the undertow of high tides, low tides and the ides of March, April and now May, let us not forget those departed souls who, long ago, traipsed these paths and blazed out our trails for us, long before we were a gleam in daddy’s eye or a swelling in mommy’s belly. Yea, I say unto thee, ’tis not for us to wonder why, but rather to do or die. If we do well, we skip past hell; if we do wrong, we get gonged between the clattering cimbals of percussion, discussion, obfuscation and condemnation. And yea, I say unto thee: He and She who are faithful in the little things, the small change and the twists and turns that rearrange this life that we thought we had figured out. . . as the Lord was sayin’, He and She who are faithful in the little stuff turn out to be faithful in the stuff that really matters. . . when push comes to shove, when eagle meets dove and hate is conquered by love, when the drosses of mankind conspire to nail the greatest man of all Time to a cross. . . but then the Great Programmer who wrote the code, who structured the DNA, who turned night into day, when that Prime Designer used circumstances—whatever whits hit the fan— to demonstrate that fallen figs along the paths of life. . . and the boson-higgs that we may discern along the orbits of man’s great experimental whirligig—that those fallen figs and zippidy-doo boson higgs are nothing more than the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that cousin Will dramatized back in the day. What goes around, y’all, comes around. . . in this great mandela, as Nelson Mandela had said . . . or some brave pioneering person in the land of the free and the home of the brave, who had been to the mountaintop and had seen the promised scene. . . when that person comes to mind, remember then, summer birds with wings of fire, come to witness spring’s new hope, born of leaves decaying; now push “Save.”

Glass half-Full