– 378th entry

I did not make the cosmos; it made me—I am
the mind concatenated, synthesis and linkage,
neuron and microbe, molecule and motion.

Every analogy describes me, and every process,
especially death: no stasis in decay, but wondrous
transformations, revelations, making from old the new.

The brilliant fungus that emerges from the carcass
of a Himalayan moth, the miles of roots connecting
aspen clones, chemical masses that combine

to develop into insects while cocooned—
yes I am marvelous, but I am not responsible:
I am.

~~

– 726th entry

The idea of angels came to me
traversing the void, and thus
they inhered into being edgeless
and perfect, air and light made form,
their voices pure, loud, emanating
from cosmos—
for a moment, I experienced awe.
They need no purpose, they possess
neither will nor consciousness,
they do not evolve
nor do they construct civilizations.

I love them and they cannot love me back.

~~

– 935th entry

One thing I appreciate: complexity.
The fractal element of emergent networks,
slew of thread and vine,
corrugated shorelines, spider silks,
leaf shapes, tangles in a child’s hair.
Patterns and broken patterns.
The way water molecules persist
while changing. Ice shine, fog, cloud mass.
Dew, rain on rivers. 
All those stars pulsing and cooling, 
gravity with its inevitable
exertion. The random split,
mutation, fall fall fall.
The bounce that weaves what’s
unexpected into the warp.

~~

– 5,222nd entry

I hear you, oh people, but can do nothing.
My existence is, it is not does.
Entropy and randomness are universal facts;
even miracles abide by them.

Those of you who interpret me as powerful
possess no understanding of power.
Those who entreat me for justice or forgiveness?
Look closer to home.

You are not my people. I possess nothing.
If you really knew what love is
you would not need to turn to me.
Turn to one another.