Noone Loves Anyone

Noone loved anyone.  She did.  “She laughed his joy, she cried his grief … Anyone’s any was all to her.”  E. E. Cummings wrote that.

It feels good to be loved, to know that we are loved.

But that feeling, that knowledge is hard to keep.  Harder and harder.

Darwin showed us a different knowledge: natural selection is at the heart of life, nothing more.  Feelings cannot be trusted, not if we want to know the truth.  Love and hate:  they are the same to the author of life.

“Busy folk buried them side by side, little by little … noone and anyone,” Cummings wrote.

In the beginning there was no plan.  In the end there is no peace.  In the middle, noone loves anyone.  It is impolite to say that.  Teleonomy is jealous of teleology.  I know.  We must laugh our cryings and do our dance, like the “someones and everyones” in Cummings poem who “said their nevers” and “slept their dream.”