Rebecca Cole

The Planck world is a ghost world. It is a world without “time” and without “space.” Perhaps that is where we should look for the Absolutes. But we no longer have words to describe the experience.

I wanted, above all else, to be good. And I wanted the path to that goodness to be clear. I suspect that this is why I excelled at math and science, where the rules are laid out step by step, where if you did something exactly the way it was supposed to be done, the result would be exactly as it was expected to be.

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and the pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of the blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin flowers. And the frisky ones—inkberry, lamb’s-quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones—rosemary, oregano. Give them

Does meaning require some external agency, capable of recording events and precious moments in a permanent repository? God, if such a Being exists, could be that agency. Wouldn’t any other agency also pass away after a certain lapse of time?

Nothing is a whole. Nothing is indestructible. Nothing is still.

The myriad stars in the sky, once thought to be the final resting place of dead pharaohs, once thought to be the embodiment of constancy and immortality and other dispositions of the Absolutes, will eventually be cold floating embers in space.