Cook sails in oblivious command to his fatal
final miscalculation at Kealakekua Bay
where he will be cooked and eaten
with Thomas, Hinks, Allen, and Fatchett
by confused and excited Sandwich Islanders.
Clerke and Anderson will have cooler deaths,
consumed by disease carried in their lungs,
their dreams of tropical convalescence
replaced by litanies of abstract words,
as the ships move through islands of ice
in the Bering Sea and the Arctic Ocean.
Old Billy Watman will die of fever in Hawaii.
John McIntosh will be struck dead in a gale
as he tries to secure the mainsail. Alex
McIntosh will die of flux in Petropavlosk
where marine drummer boy, Jim Holloway,
crippled with an infected foot, and in love
with a native Kamchatdal woman, will attempt
to desert at the Russian trading station.
Is consciousness what we are striving to generate?
Is it personal or collective?
Are we in the process of generating God, as a projection of our
collective mind as it evolves?
If this world were suddenly to be obliterated in a thermo-nuclear flash would
God suffer an attack of permanent amnesia?
What will God forget or lose when I die or when you die? What will be left in that void? Less than if we did not make these notations. For as long as there is something to transmit, and someone to transmit it to, and
the medium of language to carry it, somehow it will continue, this
experience of what is going on, spreading outward in the universe
at 299,792.5 kilometers per second.