All That Is

(reflections on my car and the universe)

As I walk away from my car,
thanking it for carrying me,
I pat it fondly,
wondering:
does it have a spirit?

And I remember:
it is made of the same stuff
that I am,
that comprises all things.

And what else is all of this,
except spirit,
flowing in its infinite forms?

Everything we know
is just a passing cloud
from the dust of a distant singularity,
still bound,
through some spooky entanglement,
to its original spirit,
the seed of all that is.

We are all its progeny,
man and beast,
animate and inanimate,
and all of it
deserves our love
and our gratitude.