Doesn’t it seem like there’s a good bit of unraveling going on?
What if that’s necessary? for our expression. our growth. for exerting our purpose in the world. What if that’s part of our design?
This I am wondering as I consider the strands of DNA that are the message of my very being. A double helix of instructions, entwined, coding, transcribed by the tools in place in every single one of my cells. A trillion different messages (or more? how many more?) who rely on an elegant but simple mechanism to be deciphered and read. They must be “unzipped,” unraveled, disentwined to expose their “base” patterns. So a simple train of partner bases can be aligned (job of the mRNA below) along their length, spelling out the message ripe for translating as the proteins necessary for the life work of the cell.
After the unraveling and transcribing, our single, separate DNA strands seek to return to their helical coil, finding their pair and resuming their partnership. This process is wholly dependent on the circumstance of the cytosol — the soupy environment of the cell. It’s highly regulated pH, is absolutely necessary — essential — for the bonds to reform, the reshaping to happen. For the DNA to return to its happy and successful life in the cell.
But what if the environment the unraveled DNA returns to is no longer conducive? if circumstances have changed. if the the pH is no longer welcoming. doesn’t recognize or remember its opposite strand. doesn’t extend its sites for binding because they are now hidden, tucked away, unavailable.
The magnificent DNA, with its elaborate coded plans, will now hover and float in the unforgiving cytosol, twisted but disconnected. It’s intended message mute. Searching for meaning. How hopeless that must feel. A strand of love. A strand of life. Gone their separate ways.
What if our DNA is trying to tell us something?
God PM’ed me!
what a cool moment,
better get a snapshot
adjust the lighting
to stage the perfect photo
quick, share this
so everyone knows
Just a You and Me moment
and then not there.
we saw it together
we shared it
now, we hold it
just the two of us.
perched atop the feeder,
not feeding, but performing,
not performing, but calling.
With words I do not know, but a voice I dearly do.
I am here! I have a message for you! Come!
She calls out and waits, calls out and waits,
for the answering call
in a pitch and rhythm and expression she already knows,
“I hear you. Wait there. I am coming.”
How does she know there will be an answer?
How does she know how to call, what to say, to whom she calls?
Yet, without fear or hesitation,
Her voice rings out again and again,
into the silence.
She has more faith than I, this mother cardinal.
More boldness, more courage.
Instinctive – there is no thought at all to this display!
And yet, do not I have this instinct born also in me?
This desire to call out,
in a pitch all my own,
with a tone and a voice and a message uniquely mine
and then to listen,
for a voice I do not know,
and yet do.