Monday, December 15, 2014


    The Mystery, of course, is how all this,
    The Universe of which we’re cognizant,
    Has come to be, if it’s a blind abyss
    Of randomness or something elegant:

    An artifact exhibiting intent,
    The function of a universal mind
    Unknowable, perhaps, yet evident,
    By which the whole shebang has been designed.

    Though I can’t solve this ancient mystery,
    I’m still unwilling simply to concede
    To declarations of Authority
    And blandly iterate some ancient creed.

         Yet that I have a mind and clearly know it
         Must be the way the Cosmos has to show it.