Spirit - at the core of our lives, at the core
of Nature, at the core of the Universe.
And, I would also suggest, at the core of science.
TO THE MOTORCAR
To drive, or not to drive: that is the question,
Whether 'tis nobler on Earth to suffer
The filth and waste of outrageous automobiles
Or to ride a bike against this toxic sea of troubles,
and by opposing, end them? To breathe: to fly;
To feel the wind in your hair; and by this ride to say we end
The heart-ache and ten thousand unnatural calamities
Pedestrians are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To breathe, to walk;
To pedal; perchance to dream: ay, there's the hope;
For in that breath of hope what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this monstrous myth,
Must give us pause: there's the nub
That makes a dread of so much hope;
For who would bear the poisons and foul stench of cars,
The road rage fever, the proud car salesman's contumely,
The pangs of Gaia's wounds, the traffic engineer's delay,
The insolence of smog and the spurns
That Nature so unworthily takes,
When we ourselves might Earth-love make
With a bare choice? Who would sorrows bear
That Earth should choke and die a cancerous life,
But that the dread of life without the car,
The undiscover'd country in whose bourn
Our bikes might live, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those cars we have
Than cycle to a land we know not of?
Thus motor-mania does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of speed,
And enterprises far beyond just "fill her up!"
And "hit the road!" with this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.