The Casual Abandon of a Particular Dandelion

 by Jefferson Hansen

written on a picnic table at a solo picnic

"Thus are the world’s troubles due to the love of knowledge.” Chuang tzu

The scent of Cutter

insect repellant. A chittering,

the sound, I guess,

of some insect.

Someone with a degree, somewhere,

knows. But that person isn't here,

now.

The state of the world

hangs in the balance

over insects. This I believe

though I can't prove it

in a formal kind

of way. But it's here,

now. Because things often

seem stitched together

by the smallest things,

the particulars. The insects

hold everything we call "everything"

together. I push them

away with repellent. Farmers

kill them with pesticides,

not unlike bombing the

microfauna of the gut

with antibiotics. A bird

titters; I can't identify.

My knowledge has splattered

onto the grass, beneath

the picnic table, and lies there

as pointless as it has

always been. After days

of looking through search engines

for an article by an academic

who could support and aid

credence to an insight I had,

I found the trail starting at 

Wikipedia. She makes the same

argument I do, but with

a credentialed oomph. Yeah,

we need that sometimes.

Her book is on the way.

The insects are repelled or killed.

The birds twitter because

they twitter. And I write for

I write. I once described it

as akin to breathing, for me.

I would say, "screw the system,"

but the system isn't worth the effort.

There's a wide river nearby.

I hiked four hours this morning.

Some larger force, perhaps larger

meanings, I don't know, propels

all of this in myriad directions, 

and it is not close to human—

some magic dance we participate in

well beyond our possible ken.

And the insects will die.

And the fabric will tear.

And it all won't matter

to ahuman meanings, that

went on before us, that

go on beyond us, moving

from insect to insect, from

alpha centauri to a single

blade of grass, from the bleeding

moon to a plastic bag

rolling across the asphalt in

the breeze. It is all so

much beyond us, all of us.

I surrender all my knowledge

to the meaning inherent in

a single dandelion, announcing

its yellow with a casual

abandon.

____________________________

JeffersonHansen.com