Someone said the unity behind things can’t be demonstrated.
That it’s poetry, not particulate.
Philosophy, not physics.
To prove it, you’d have to show that time and space are illusions,
that distant particles remain connected,
that reality itself is nonlocal.
Oh wait… they did.
It doesn’t prove anything divine—
only that science is stranger than its storytellers,
and that separateness may be a convenient myth,
a way to survive what can’t be grasped whole.
I keep writing these fragments as if for someone who might see what I see.
Maybe that’s enough—
to leave them here, unlocked,
small traces of wonder
for whoever was already looking—
for the same door, left partly open,
slightly ajar, but wholly welcoming.
✨ A note from Unfinished Maps — where thought and wonder occasionally meet halfway.