Choices

When sailing between Scilla and Charybdis,
for mysteries that Man has yet to fathom,
while wondering aloud if you can keep this
small boat of yours from sinking to the bottom,
descending into Tartarus or Hades,
(depends on which mythology is present)
and knowing all along — how best to say this
— the journey is unlikely to be pleasant,
continuing to point your trireme vessel,
though dragons and Leviathans imperil…
Be ready, not a moment’s rest, to wrestle,
bare-handed, when — at best — over a barrel,
and struggling with scourges and afflictions…
The Oracle be damned with its predictions.

The Oracle be damned with its predictions,
and now you’re on the horns of a dilemma.
Dichotomies, conundrums, contradictions.
Your Muse is so confused, and who could blame her?
When choosing half a dozen of the other,
the “six of one” mundane and unappealing,
the difference being — should you even bother —
a certain intuition or a feeling,
try, figure out the lesser of two evils —
Arithmetic alone seems insufficient.
Be wary of commotions and upheavals,
Unfortunately, none of us omniscient.
Remember that for every one you’re handed,
there is one other. One that you’ve left stranded.

There is one other. One that you’ve left stranded,
between the deep blue sea and handsome devil.
It’s what the circumstances had commanded,
But still: had you been fully on the level,
appraised him of the no-win situation,
the dammit if he does, damned if he doesn’t,
you might have put a lid on his frustration —
assured him that he’s not alone — who hasn’t
experienced the very same condition.
Who hasn’t, faced with challenges and trials
and full, all of a sudden, of contrition,
well balanced, though it is with stern denials,
reached out to touch the sky, an angry fist:
Please help me, God, that is, if you exist.

Please help me, God, that is, if you exist.
If not — Pascal assured us in his wager —
still worth it, and in truth, we can’t resist,
can’t help but think that there is something major
that orchestrates the falling of the dice,
and forces probability collapses.
When measurements refuse to be precise,
as if we’re waiting for a God that claps his
two mighty hands, declaring all is well.
How can one understand one's own existence,
much less that of a God? What magic spell,
like forces operating at a distance,
allowed the world to be, to force a choice,
must pick your slit, and once you have, rejoice.

Must pick your slit, and once you have, rejoice.
Electrons, though, appear to feel no need
to make that kind of consequential choice
and manage, though unaided, to succeed
in spreading their existence through creation.
Some even have suggested: All there is —
the universe, the whole manifestation —
is but a lone electron. What a tease!
Yes, this one is a challenge to pin down.
The mind, although accustomed to dilemmas,
still struggles, and you cannot help but frown,
no matter the sound layout of the lemmas
that Einstein, Bohr, and Heisenberg propose.
You feel you’re being led, and by the nose.

You feel you’re being led, and by the nose.
Uncertainty and principle don’t mix.
If you can choose at will, superimpose
one choice over another, random picks,
and all of them are valid? That’s no rule.
It’s anarchy… Look what you’ve done to science,
and not to mention that, now, every fool
will point to it in bold overreliance:
You see that dead cat bounce? But he’s alive!
That Shrodinger another of these thinkers.
No, mister, that old feline won’t survive.
It should be jail for anyone who tinkers
with isotopes releasing cyanide.
Poor cat, it thought it found a place to hide.

Poor cat, it thought it found a place to hide.
But scientists are testing for nine lives.
The box remains unopened. What’s inside?
Unknowable. I’m hoping the cat thrives,
but there’s no way to tell, no secret knowledge,
or so at least they taught me, years ago.
Who knew, back when I took this course in college
(though I recall my wife did tell me so:
you will not be a physicist, my dear.
A poet? Nah, go learn to be a lawyer.
The path to make a living: crystal clear.
We’ll buy a house, nice fixture in the foyer…)
all choices that I’ve made. But how’s the cat?
Expired and alive. Cause he’s all that.

Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini