In the final 40 minutes of The Theory of Everything, the movie about Steven Hawking’s life and achievements, I paused it 7 times in moments of inspiration to write 7 poems. I’ve decided not to edit any of these (spelling errors amok). As a relevant aside, in my high school philosophy class, I asserted that the concept of choice was nothing more than an illusion; 15 years later (a couple years ago) when I studied Hawking’s principle on black hole radiation and the mutability of the universe, it changed my mind. This is poem 6:
Every proposition
has infinite positions
at least theoretically
beast mind spirituality
we’re wired
spit from fire
circumstances dire
drip drip close rain perspire
nervous agitation
open your eyes: awaken
you control the moment
when you learn
from victory and loss
more than a roll of dice
or random coin in toss
Decisions are exceptions
and choices are real
shake hands with inner reason
and make yourself a deal.
It’s not for me to tell
you what that is or should
be cuz you gotta understand
that the truth will set you
free to decide how to
walk the next path,
hear it from me:
a weary empath.
