I don't believe*

Higgs boson

"Do you think that beyond the edge of the cosmos or the other side of the smallest particle or wave, there we'll discover what many believe is there but has no name, no concept, no evidence thus far other than the absence of all sens-I-able things?"

"Isn't this to say that the micro- and macro- material universes have their ground in non-materiality--see, we don't even have the words."

"Oh, dear. Now we've got a problem. No words to talk about what we don't even know is there, God or nothing."

"That's nonsense. There aren't just two options."

"Whadayamean? There are only those two."

"What about some other reality? Like in string theory. They have quantum explanations and then there are string interpretations, but no one has ever seen a string, not that I know anything about it. Except, a theory is a theory based on ideas. Could be the same for the ends of things as we know them."

"You mean a theory other than the so-called theory of God or the theory of nothing."

"Right. And basically we made all this up. God and nothing. Realities we never dreamed of come into our awareness through science every day. Why not something we've never even dreamed of?"

"I guess that's possible. When you look at it, the god most people talk about looks pretty much like a larger people-like person. Pretty much. And he or she has changed costumes over the years."

"If you want to go crazy with this, then a people-made god all powerful and all of that, well, s/he could be in, around, and through, be the very essence of anything and everything. Doesn't sound so much like a god as a condition of the reality we already know. Look at that beetle there. He's god, and the space between him and you is god, and you are god. I am sure this is heresy to someone."

"You can be sure."

"And that leaves us where? I don't think we know, in spite of testimonies to the contrary from reputable voices throughout the ages."

"Something bothers me. Nothing I get. Like no thing, which is hard to imagine, because you can't even label or describe that for there's nothing there, not even nothing. It's a paradox and I can't hold it in my head, no one can in fact. Then there's the assumption that there is a god or spirit on the other side. We can't by definition--because of omini-everything--imagine him, her, it, other."

"But we have tradition and theologians and people like that. People who contemplate and study . . . "

"Yes, and again, everything is a font from them. Don't tell me about books written in chosen languages by chosen peoples and all of that. What about the rest of us? God prefers one group over another? Doesn't sound like god. We are constrained with who we are, where we come from, our traditions, granted, and all manner of physical things and phenomena. You'd have to step outside of all of that to see what was really there, and no one has done that except one, reportedly, and he didn't stick around long enough to tell us much."

"So why do we study the stars and the Higgs boson and keep on going with all of that?"

"To get more questions to answer. If we had no questions, what'd we do with ourselves."

"Questions about?"

"Nothingness or realities beyond all sensory comprehension. Or, that which we can conceive of as immaterial realities embracing and permeating all of that which can be sensed directly."

_____
* I don't believe I wrote this, but it comes from my working-writings file and is in the style of dialogues  I have written frequently. The piece also reflects some of my thinking and the ways I have expressed myself about such things. But all the same, I have some doubt about how well this is constructed and said. I wrote this?

If I am repeating something someone else has written in whole or in part, please excuse AND inform me.

Her remaining days

Her daytime attendant would arrive early in the morning and help her dress. They then would exit the apartment as her parents felt relief and respite from the fitful night. The attendant would open the car door and she would sit quietly in the back seat. She liked riding in the car. And off they would go to the care center as they did yesterday and all days before since she was two. There her days would each be the same, but from appearances she would experience them as first and new; and the routine, the predictability, would embrace her all the days of her life, as the days embraced her parents and the silent attendant. No one knew what went on inside, or if.

Grandfather sleeps

Grandfather sat on the tree stump on the small rise above the family's sumptuous vegetable garden and looked first at it and then into the distance. His work was done. July's harvest had led to August's, and now September would come in three days. He knew he would not see it, nor the bounty that was always September and early October. Others would reap what he had sown, and that was good. With a hand slowly rising to his heart and lowering his head to look at his chest, he exhaled uttering one word that no one would hear. "Love." Then he slowly listed to the right and fell off the stump and onto the ground. He lay there, lifeless in a fetal position with a modest smile for his family, his eyes closed for eternal sleep.

Whatever could have transpired

The judge took the gavel and smacked it on the sound block resting on the ledge before him. "Court's adjourned," he said, and the assembled as well as the defendant and lawyers, prosecuting and defense, rose and stood in silence. The judge exited left and entered his chambers. All knew he would not return and that the curious drama had come to its end  No one moved, not the bailiff, jailer, nor the court reporter seemingly  knowing and bewildered at the no-decision decision. No one moved. No one had satisfaction. Contrary to everything we expect of such formal and public proceedings, the only option seemed to be to disperse. But all just stood there facing forward.

Temporary assurances

Before the snows arrived that year in late August, Mara and her newborn sans name except for "little one" settled into her aunt's family lodge. It was warm and welcoming on the now brisk mornings, and soon winter as well as homespun sympathies would ensure their home for a time, a time next year when decisions about where to go and what to do next would have to be made. The only thing Mara was relieved about was that he would not come calling, for he was somewhere out there, who knows where and who cares, really? Not so much a new life but one with temporary assurances, and that was enough, more than enough, refuge and shelter from storms of the heart.

Lizzie's mom

"Lizzie, if you're not going to live by the rules of this house, well, you can just find another mother and maid, and cook, by the way."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. There are things that are just not on. You've crossed that line, again, and I'm sick and tired of it."

"That's three cliches, mom."

"I don't care what that is. You'd better--"

"Better what?"

"Stop. Stop, I say. Where'd you get such sass?"

"From you."

"Out you go."

At that my mom's hands grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. She marched me--my cliche--to the front door and pushed me out onto the porch. She grabbed the wildly swinging screen door and pulled it shut and locked it. She looked out through the screen door, her face now a blur peering out at me.

"You're taking this. . . . Unhinged, you are. Unhinged."

No bearing

Alternate ending, considered to have no bearing on a canonical narrative.

Sissy stormed out of the diner and crossed Highway 50. She stood there and with the feeling of stamping one foot repeatedly in defiance, she signaled to hitch a ride with an oncoming semi. He blew right past and in the wind-wake and dust he created--no, that her so-called partner created, she actually stamped her foot three times.

Meryl looked out the screen door of the diner and called, "You really are deranged. You'll be back straight away." A moment later she added, "The loneliest road in America is not the easiest place to hitchhike."

A white pickup truck slowly approached Sissy and stopped. The next thing Meryl didn't see was Sissy, just the tailgate of that white pickup heading east. "She'll be back," she said to herself, not a doubt in her soul. She turned and stood at the counter waiting to pay the bill for two half-eaten breakfast specials.