A Letter to Daughter, in seven parts: Part One

Part One:

Daughter, I want to be able to explain to you why you are special.

It has nothing to do with souls or god.

It has nothing to do with purpose or ability.

The primary truths between the lies that I have found to date are as follows:

There need be no purpose for a singular organism to exist.

Odds are that you as a biological unit would never be created.

You have no soul, neither do I nor any other being, animal or plant

Souls imply a filing cabinet of eternal identities sorted out between

Potential organic shelves for the blink of a lifetime, which are re-filed and reinserted

Into symmetrical combinations upon ceasing respiration into a physical or ethereal curio cabinet

Souls, spirits, ghosts are impressions of the fear of complex life thirsting for immortality

In a selfish tyranny of the mind’s eye peering through the looking glass of consciousness

To comprehend beyond the baseline of sexual reproduction, gestation, birth

To the avenues of love, companionship, friendship, reciprocity and communal responsibility

And yet wish for an everlasting endowment based on one’s volition to distance our self

From the authority of our genes to the arenas of an often perverted sense of kindness.

Humans are in the end hungry for a solution to this core mathematical equation of life.

We create god.  We create religion.  We make war.  We wage violence. 

We rebuild.  We pray.  We heal.  We hurt.  Some live.  Some die.

The lack of balance in the process brings men to madness.

Einstein gifted humans with realization of energy equals mass times the speed of light squared.

This beautiful equation implies the exchange of what we are. 

There is a reason I put a poster of his face in your room at the age of four stating,

“Even Einstein asked questions,” and took down the crucifix my grandmother gave you at birth.

It was not to swap one deity for another, but to offer you why you are special.

My daughter, you can ask questions. 

Think about that concept, what this opens to you and what so many in this world leave on the nightstand unutilized each morn to night.  So often at the advent of one interrogative,

We uncover another and another, and what I urge you to do is to never stop asking,

Never stop going; for the beyond is as boundless as space time.

Space time always was.  There was no beginning and there will be no end. 

The universe we know in such myopic experience may physically end, but

The plate of space time on which the energy intermixed as dancing physical matter

Is not dependent upon its continuance to exist or as an interval of folly or concern

Therein humans are drawn to ask, “How does what I choose matter?”

The closest iteration of truth to respond to this flowing inquiry is that

If one seeks to phrase the question under a pretense of justice,

One will perpetually be left hungry.

 To part 2