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April 8, 2022

I awoke to a salt marsh full of water.

April showers bring morning high tides it seems. Both the water level and last night’s insane wind were just this moment’s reminder of what is fully uncontrolled.

A nearness to Tremendousness —
An Agony procures —
Affliction ranges Boundlessness —
Vicinity to Laws

There are complete documentations of what every tide was, and every one will be. We know that the moon means a lot, as does the wind, and inland, in the tidal marshes, so does the rain. Weather is fully observed, then continuously analyzed, then comprehensively predicted. And it is never perfect.

Perhaps in generations ahead, weather will be known as well as the tides are. Observation can lead to understanding, then prediction, even control. Until it can’t.

A century of vaccines and therapies have rendered any number of threats benign. Polio, measles, small pox, AIDS: but not this not-so-new plague. One we may have had a hand in effecting.

We know enough to have a greater awareness of what we cannot know.

Contentment’s quiet Suburb —
Affliction cannot stay
In Acres — Its Location
Is Illocality —

Emily Dickinson was afflicted. Her mind was like the tides and the weather, constantly moving, sometimes understood, fully observed. I am sure she woke up to weather, knew insufficiency, but thought about it. What we cannot control, we can try to know better.

In between seasons, now, we are sick of cold and fantasize about life returning beyond our heads. So some of us invented Lent, crowning a lousy time of lingering death, with a focus on unseen life. It would be hope if it were not true, so it becomes Faith.

Faith does not set me free. It bounds me in my inabilities to know and control, because all I have is Faith. You too. The break of Faith to Fact happened for a bunch of us 100 generations ago. So anomalous that it lived after a century or two of terror intended to end Faith after the Fact.

That effort, like weather prediction, failed.

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