Geometric Allegory

Russian Nesting Doll - or "For the Initiate" (Geometric Code) ________________________________________________________________________ Oh God... Stop while you can, Before you get to the last  Matryoshka doll. Stop, b ut don't stop searching, Not u ntil you know she's there. How will you know? Allow her to stand before you. Let her rest in the inquisitive Theoretical bisection And remain forever  A possibility. If you let her stay, She will remain whole And unbroken  Like a stolid, stoic Whole note Sung by the invisible future Which surely will come to be . If You break her open, A fractal fissure Will invariably lead To the thousand mirrored-hallways, Or so it seems. I say this again--pointing            to the Russian doll -- Leave her be And do not turn the page  Or read another line Because you do not know  If it is the last Or what it all means....

I sit in the garden and watch The bees buzz from flower to flower. I know them as angels,  As little specks of yellow fuzz-and-stingers  Carrying the magic pixie-dust  Needed to keep the world alive.  The bees are, in my mind, great alchemists  Mixing different pollens To create new fruits.  I too am on an errand for my Father, And a collection of cosmic space dust Clings to my knees. I bring Him pollen so that he might have  What he needs.  It is not uncommon for some of those fuzzy angels  To stumble and falter at my feet.  I watch the dying bees  Labor and breathe And flicker and fade.  Always I wonder what was my role in this?  Should I sit back and watch the scene unfold,  All while doing nothing? ' Do the bees have a right to their own death?  Did they own the suffering, the lameness, the asphyxiation?   Or, since falling prostrate at my feet,  Do they want the ultimate mercy?  Perhaps there ...

In the beginning there was the Word.  It’s hard to explain because the word—           in the beginning— Wasn’t so much a subject and a predicate  As it was a message.  It was a complete idea given to us by the Creator Because He loved us dearly.  Some explain it like this: "Back then, we dwelt in the dirt  And picked the fleas from our skin,  And occasionally our eyes looked up at the sky  Not in wonder, but more because  We sensed a change in the weather.  He spoke to us even then and  Conveyed the message even as  We combed through the hair of the one  Closest to us while searching for fleas  And crushing them between our nails.  The message was very much like a radio signal,  Pressed to our flesh.  For the most part  We didn’t hear it, and if we did,  We didn’t know what it was, so we ignored it.  Eventually—was it decades, centuries, millennia?— One of us finally ...