SLABS OF EXISTENCE"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th March 2012.

Slabs of existence, 
we move them, caress them, 
climb them, 
they are with us 
wherever we go, 

inescapable boulders of awareness, 
'so beautiful, (should I take out these two lines of value judgement?) 
so ugly,' 
so all embracing, 
so much, our senses 
gathered in a bundle 
of being;

we see out of eyes,
mirrored, 
like the facets of a stone, 
its gems, 
some hidden inside the rock, 

yet those eyes 
think they also see, 
when a perception is done, (or made?)
what isn't there, 
with the great machine-like brain mass, 
its boulders centre 
formed and reformed, like clay 

its spinning mass of particles 
lying this way and that way, 
oscillating in the time of a life; 

changing and re-changing 
in an unending momentum, 
perpetuum 
these moving elements 
meet others 
and amoeba-like reproduce, 
giving new entities; 

still made of the same 
basic stuff, 
of matter, 
only the variety 
we call human being 
that one particular gathering 
of that matter;
 
sounding their paths as they go, 
with thoughts and theories, 
wisdom's and insanities 
in equal measure, 
flung into the melting pot 
of our conscious persons, 

to be processed and reprocessed 
but only the same ingredients 
shuffled in their mathematically magnetic paths, 
fitting and refitting together, 
in the spaces
which are not spaces
 
just differently experienced matter, 
flowing incessantly, 
in the most bizzar 'decorative,' ( another value judgement?)
flower and water-like 
beautiful swathes 
of iridescent rainbow colours 

only a very few 
of which can be discerned, 
uncovered and covered up, 
in dark and light 
of the ever mobile movements 
of all that is; 

and what or where do the we's, 
that are individuals, 
be, or do; 
we are still only parts 
that collide and recolide, 
in what we call a lifetime, 
to our understanding, 
yet we are always here, 
all is always here; 

only changing shape and appearance, 
therefore moving forever, 
mutating,
metamorphosing, 
changing 
yet all the while 
the same thing; 

all the while, we write words, 
we speak words 
words change their meaning, 
ever in flux, 
never able to express 
what the universe is 
only coming close when we use 
what we call mathematics, 
which gives 
an infinite number 
of possibilities.