All Soft and Squishy

We were born all soft and squishy.

Gradually, we calcify.

Then we die in a state of Rigor Mortis.

(pause for a breath)

We were born as verbs:  flowing, liquid, decentralized.

And we aged.   We were enticed into being nouns though pain.   Whole, unique, separate, and intelligent entities.  These illusions shielded us from our loneliness.   Gradually, we became rocks, islands, hard things.  Things we thought were real and tangible.  Things with truth, purpose, and integrity.   And our thoughts coalesced into tangible missions, purposes, and destinies.  We became demagogues. And our beliefs hardened.  And I'm not just talking about the invitation to Putin to further hack into the opposing Party's emails.

Then we became incapable of change and curiosity.  And we stopped flowing.   We put up walls all around us. And we stopped moving.

(time to take another breath)

When we were born, we laughed.  And we cried.  Each with its own set of vibrations casting aside the Procrustean bed that might have otherwise captured us.

And if we were lucky, we encountered the trickster.  The trickster encouraged us to set aside the paradigm in favor of the paradox, the binary in favor of the analog, the joke in favor of the sermon.

If we were unlucky, we encountered the priest, the politician, and the policeman.  And we joined the military.

But in any event, we did age and die.  And our bones and joints withered.

Until, once again, we became liquid fertilizer for a new squishy soft generation.

(take your last breath).