Of what worth then is love?
If it were irrevocably true
That what we call the universe
Is merely a cold, impersonal and violent phenomena
A dog eat dog whirlpool of predation
Ever evolving a kind of massive, self-sustained virus
Feeding on itself

Or that there is no eternal soul
Never was, never will be
Making any potential atrocities
Including not yet conceived of atrocities
Plausible, rational, justifiable
Even desirable?

Maybe it’s good
To look intentionally ridiculous
One day out of the year
To have a crucifix of black ashes
From last year’s palms
Thumbed across our skulls
As a reminder, after all
That everything came from nothing
Including ourselves
To intentionally declare our dust
That our bodies were born from dust
That our bodies will end in dust
To be reminded
That we’re alive on a semi-molten rock called earth
That revolves around an average
Humdrum fireball called the sun
In the middle of approximately
Nowhere, lost
59.7 billion galaxies in
That this maelstrom of creation
Was not initiated by some lofty scholarly ideation
Or some pure and elegant mathematical equation
But from a lowly station of sublime nothingness
From which was made manifest
This perpetual enigma of being
Drenched with endless novelty
Revealing, awakening –
The fire that is divine love
Has no smoke,
Only ashes

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