Sun in Midwinter
The diseases, the chemotherapy, the fluctuating hormones of the middle years, the exigent need to be female, when born with male parts (or vice versa), the perfect cup of Persian tea sitting in front of me-they are all chemicals and energy transforming. The child in my class who needs extra reminders because all norepinephrine molecules are not created equally. Or the one who is howling in distress because an excess of cortisol due to previous trauma has been re-triggered. The flicker of passion that reverberates between two beings. The animals that bond and the ones that repel one another.
We are but chemistry, made up of cell particles that have existed for millions of years. We are the stuff of stars, they say. The oxygen atoms created from burning stars. The trace heavy elements residing within us, despite their tiny contribution, are a result of the profound energy of exploding stars.
When you begin to understand this, everything is clearer. That look of consternation on a co-worker’s face. The person honking their horn at you in traffic. Your teenager scowling at you. The highs, too. The states of calm that you have within your power to create to lower stress hormones and inflammatory proteins. The release of oxytocin when a mother breastfeeds or when you stare deeply into another person’s eyes.
We are but chemistry. It’s really simple. And yet we forget. We are the stuff of stars; being born, brilliantly shining in the middle ages like our sun or dying and thus creating heavy metals needed in minuscule amounts to create life yet again.