Pilgrimage

lynd-wardForsaking God.
Splintered on storm-wracked rocks.
Splayed on granite shores.
Stone scabbards pierced my groin.
Bitter winds stabbed my cheeks.
The scallops did not taste good.

My Christ.
You ride me like a donkey.
I carry you like a cross.
Rid me of yourself.
Rid me of myself.

I abandoned my thatch, my cobblestones, my tolerant Dutch protectors.
For barren oak trees. On empty shores. Under grey skies. The cold bites me in the arse.

I died in great numbers. Half of me died. Most of my women.
I am not a Sachem, God damn it! I cannot heal. I cannot lead. And God did not help us.
We have nothing to give thanks for.

I see Natives.

Squanto was not a Wampanoag.
He was a Patuxet.
Captured and sold off in Spain in a bundle,
Packaged with fish and corn.

Squanto unbundled himself.
Escaped the Spaniards.
Traveled to England.
Returned alone to the New World.

He spoke many languages but had no identity.
His people also had died.
Consumed by leptospirosis.
My gift.
I come to your shores and give unto you.

Leptospirosis.
Transmitted by animal urine and animal semen.
Sequelae of myocarditis, pericarditis, meningitis, uveitis.
The blinding of the eye.
Sequelae the end.

In death we knew each other.
I occupied your village and called it Plymouth.
Squanto became what I wanted him to be.
His real name was Tisquantum.
He kept me alive he was my God.

Sparks of energy foretell an awakening.
Transubstantiation of our corn bread and our corn mash into new life.

What is the quantum? There is no God is it God?

Tisquantum. My quantum.
The parcel of land Squanto seeded with maize.
A quanta of corn laded with sugar.
Transmuting matter into energy.
Elevating my death into life.
The beginning of America.
My America.

Wave-particle duality.
We are not in Mediocristan.
We have traveled to Extremistan.
We have fallen down the rabbit hole.
In Plymouth.

We live outside the moon.
And so we see the light shining upon it.
But from inside the moon, we look down on Plymouth.
And there is no light.
We see Tisquantum.
Shadow of a shadow.
Tending his corn.
Orbiting the moon.

The essence of quantum mechanics is that we are not X or Y.
We are not Myles Standish or Massasoit.
Peace prevailed for 50 years after Tisquantum died.
Was it poison?
Peace prevailed. How could that be?
If they were X or Y?
They touched.
One moved and the other stood still.
They were not immune to each other.
They shared animal urine and animal semen.

It is such. The velocity with which an object approaches a sun will determine the distance from the sun at which it can establish a stable orbit.
So too. The energy carried by an electron will automatically assign it to a given orbital around the nucleus of an atom.

The formula works.
The orbit depends on the distribution of energy.
Do I orbit around Tisquantum?
Or does he orbit around me?

Paradox.
The hand in the glove or the glove in the hand?
Which is warmer?
You cannot be sure.
Pretend you’re Schrodinger’s Cat.
Both dead and alive.

Tisquantum. My quantum.
Held tight in my fist.
Bathing me in light.