The mysteries of the universe are not mysterious. They tell their stories far and wide. Look at the infertile serviceberry fruits dropped for the mice on the deer and coyote trail up to Turtle Ridge and over to Head of the Lake.

And these asters in a sage beside the trail. See the pattern? Yes? No?

What about here?

Brown-eyed Susan, beloved of Marmots

Nice, eh! No, still obscure? Well, how about the stamens on this bristly rose?

See? A beautiful Universe that shows up in splots and spots and splats and spits.

Spotty Elder, eh.

Unity in bits, that’s the thing. This universe does not have to be continuous to be universal. And yet, it achieves it, which is the story this mustard tells.

It’s a way of making lines of force into points, which can then swell. A universe looked on right on the open end of the optic nerve, that’s what it is. And look, it looks back, without eyes. Eyes are not necessary for this work, or is it all eyes?

Other universe might be just that, but not this one.

Sure, Western scientific and mathematical metaphors explain all of this with gas pressures, expanding energies from points of origin and so on, but hey, when you live in the Universe you know all this stuff by heart:

Start from where you are. The universal is never far.