Despair the naysayer to the hologram universe-a poem

You are just a projection, you opinion means very little
That being said you are entitled to a response
as long as it is only from another projection
You rail against the idea and exclaim
I am not a projection, I am flesh, blood, fermions and bosons
But you are bozos and not bozons for you fail to see
and stand prepared to rail against strange philosophy
yet you are willing to accept you celephane man
that your wild universe with its infinite smalls and larges
makes more sense to your newtonian einsteins,
that it can suddenly exist from a single big bang
in alls its glory from nothing at all
and yet you would reject in your conceit
that it is equally likely that it all has happened at once
and that we are just a projection of all this over time
because while you can accept everything you see
and everything that you cannot see
for some reason you are apt to reject
that it might be what your poet said
the bard* who years before your physists got it right
So those of you who mock this projected singularity
Mock your poets and your very religions
which define your god as the god of the singularity
knowing everything and making everything
every bit as logical as any other attempt
to fathom the unfathomable to go beyond
your math, your understanding, your very reality
to some other place where magic is that everything
every love you have, every kiss you have given
every question asked and answer given
happens at once and for eternity
in a place where the beginning is hidden yet
so fools you have been and fools you are
those of you who doubt this place
are doomed forever to put off risk
and hence your eternity is waiting to live
waiting to love, waiting to give
when the universal design is defined
as looking at our life which has happened
and is happening over and over again
and all at once and perhaps you are
the lead in the production of your projection
your suicides pick when they exit
only to go back to that place
where they suffer over and over again
all at once but over eternity
and those who delay or deny their love
spend eternity regretting and waiting
for everything they have always wanted


*"Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep." The Tempest