“The blossoming locus”
is the notion that
the world, life, and what makes us uniquely human
is that we feel and interact with
the primal understanding that
some things are completely and utterly independent of other things
while other matters are completely and absolutely intertwined.
And that, for any situation, or any evaluation
both of these factors come into play totally
coming into friction against each other
so that one point stretches out into the space of the universe,
infinitely emblematic, and endlessly irrelevant
both in a hundred million ways.
But, how often as to either, creates the shape of a wave
that touches everything and nothing
as you can clearly see
when specific situations
are regarded as massively representative of some attitude or tendency
despite the speaker feeling some falseness of this,
and others scenarios are said to be
utterly not indicative of some demeanor or behavior,
despite its sayer seeing much fault in that.
All points endlessly small, all parabolas perfectly huge
That is a marriage of math equations and pollinations.
This is the convergence of “programmed” versus “situations.”
This is the way things spread out, this is how people become who they are
This is plant life blooming unsure of how far it goes,
this is a vertex on an infinite grid gradually playing its roles.
This is a thing on which we should focus,
this I call a blossoming locus.
Examine this phrase
and you will find some catharsis.
This is a missing element
in our species’ progress.
As we beam outwardly
our sense of what can and cannot be changed
forms an arc that feels quite beautiful.
Feeling and acting are
not so separated,
that contentious burning star heat which we can exude.
People push like ocean waves,
they choose to bend in certain ways.
They take in boundless rays of light
and turn daydreams into might.
Like a flower spreads its seeds
with a chance to claim no deed
We reach into the form of space
Affecting all but lacking weight
Shining red and breathing gold
Weaving blue and violet folds
One is all, and all is none,
But in what fashion does the sun
Shoot its rays from here to there
How is it fair and yet unfair?
In such a world, what is the shape,
that all the yeses and nos make?
What is the will we shall enact?
The war between ideal and fact
Makes up the forces that we preach
That color how our kind do meet.
What they are likely bound to feel
Which things do they say should be real
When and how they’ve made appeals
With what passions do they clash,
what they see as kind or brash,
what scatters like a plot of ash,
and becomes the vicious, kind connection
befitting only to a being on the hunt.
Don’t let anyone tell you there isn’t a math to human behavior.
I plan on cutting down that lovely lyric.