The Scientist

=== Lyrics ===
I once held hands with a scientist;
We had this theory that if we controlled the experiments in our lives
Our fingertips would be entwined forever
The way Michelangelo joined God and Adam’s fingertips as an interface to each of their souls;
Or the way electrical nodes were connected to my brain
with colorful patches used for deep stimulation in Oxford’s Neurological lab.

In the latter experiment, I felt a tingling in my mouth
In the first, I felt an uncertainty in my heart
But he said it could not be, for we were meant to be
It was scientifically proven.
But in both experiments, I was the outlier,
the kind you never report to a scientific journal.
I was un-publishable. I was the enigma of the scientist’s world.
So I stuck to my gut, because , well, that’s what we non-scientists do,
Loosened the nodes from the back of my head with trembling hands and set free.
It seemed to the world around me that I was directionless,
like a fallen leaf wafting through the eye of a white buffalo.

And as he walked away, he said, ‘life is not a movie’;
his words ringing through my ears like I was standing in front of the old buffers of my school,
that little girl of a wandering mind and a pierced soul,
sitting at the edge of the windowsill of her classroom,
staring ahead at the impossible,
singing tunes of what it meant to be alive;
the figments of her imagination beating with more life than the people and objects around her.

The woman she’s become stares ahead at shifting sand dunes and falling skies,
A path where uncertainty is her only companion,
where no hands will be held by the Sistine scientist.
I don’t where this is going,
but I’ll follow my nose,
give reign to my soul,
and somehow find a way to let go.

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