I spend my days, these dwindling precious few
Trying to understand
What I understand
If you understand my meaning
This vast stupefying collection
Of cells and synapses
That I call myself
The collection of which is me
Me and the billions of other beings
That make up my body
Very much like yours and the billions
Of other collections all identifying as individuals
Operate in relation to each other and everything else
Interacts with all that is known and unknown
The latter being myth that we spin to comfort ourselves
That this can be explained when clearly it cannot
As witness thousands of years of fables and gods
And now studies showing god lives in our brains
Or I should say it feels like he’s there
Even though there is no god or at least one you can pray to
But still the prayers, the beseeching, the promises
The hopes at mystical existence in the great forever
Promised by those with contribution baskets
For their mansions with Maseratis in the garage