“The whistling buoy is a signal to approach boldly; informing the mariner that he is in a position of safety,” from The Whistling Buoy [Volume 22, Issue 132, Dec 1893
Having finally realized I am unsure
about a lot of things, like
Who is a god, the river
or the builder of bridges?
that straight jacket my mind,
will have their time and then
fade into the realization
that one’s truth might be a matter
and perspective no more
than a slave to experience.
Imagine the water unbridged
by foot or flight. To be confined
to no farther than we could swim
would surely proclaim as god whatever
bridged the river. Come a flood
that ripped the pilings all asunder,
demolishing the arching splendor,
I wonder if
we might decide it is the river
that is a god, an angry one.
By then, long in the tooth
and denying tunnel vision,
we proclaim no doubt
that what we think is right.
But that is not the end. Just when
we think we have it figured out,
along comes another generation
with a better bridge
or an innocence of tsunami.
We assign the problem to robots.
They have no preconceptions, only
those programmed in and discarded
by gigo logic. How much will our history
matter then? Will the robots build a better bot?
Who will calm the storm and quench
the flame? It is then we ascertain,
neither the river nor the bridge is a god. That
is reason enough to capitalize His name.