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Lives of a Cell

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  • walto
    A good case can be made for our nonexistence as entities. We are not made up, as we had always supposed, of successively enriched packets of our own parts.
    Message 1 of 2 , Sep 22, 2011
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      A good case can be made for our nonexistence as entities. We are not made up, as we had always supposed, of successively enriched packets of our own parts. We are shared, rented occupied. At the interior of our cells, driving them, providing the oxidative energy that sends us out for the improvement of each shining day, are the mitochondria, and in a strict sense they are not ours. They turn out to be little separate creatures, the colonial posterity of migrant prokaryocytes, probably primitive bacteria that swam into ancestral precursors of our eukaryotic cells and stayed there. Ever since, they have maintained themselves and their ways, replicating in their own fashion, privately, with their own DNA and RNA quite different from ours....Without them, we would not move a muscle, drum a finger, think a thought.
      Mitochondria are stable and responsible lodgers, and I choose to trust them. But what of the other little animals, similarly established in my cells, sorting and balancing me, clustering me together? My centrioles, basal bodies, and probably a good many other more obscure tiny beings at work inside my cells, each with its own special genome, are as foreign, and as essential, as aphids in anthills. My cells are no longer the pure line entities I was raised with; they are ecosystems more complex than Jamaica Bay.
      I like to think that they work in my interest, that each breath they draw for me, but perhaps it is they who walk through the local park in the early morning, sensing my senses, listening to my music, thinking my thoughts....
      I have been trying to think of the earth as a kind of organism, but it is no go....It is too big, too complex, with too many working parts lacking visible connections....If not like an organism, what is it like, what is it most like? Then, satisfactorily for that moment, it came to me: it is most like a single cell.

      --Lewis Thomas, 1974
    • sandeep chatterjee
      It came to me: it is most like a single cell. And that single cell a nuance....... as are nuances......the infinite cells making up this Universe... ... this
      Message 2 of 2 , Sep 22, 2011
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        "It came to me: it is most like a single cell."

        And that single cell a nuance....... as are nuances......the infinite cells making up this Universe...



        ... this Universe itself a cell......itself  a nuance.


        As are the multiple Universes.

        Nuances of .........a thought.

        Which includes the sense of a thinker......... the sensing  not apart, not separate.



        A thought.

        As-if.





        From: walto <calhorn@...>
        To: meditationsocietyofamerica@yahoogroups.com
        Sent: Friday, September 23, 2011 6:09 AM
        Subject: [Meditation Society of America] Lives of a Cell

         
        A good case can be made for our nonexistence as entities. We are not made up, as we had always supposed, of successively enriched packets of our own parts. We are shared, rented occupied. At the interior of our cells, driving them, providing the oxidative energy that sends us out for the improvement of each shining day, are the mitochondria, and in a strict sense they are not ours. They turn out to be little separate creatures, the colonial posterity of migrant prokaryocytes, probably primitive bacteria that swam into ancestral precursors of our eukaryotic cells and stayed there. Ever since, they have maintained themselves and their ways, replicating in their own fashion, privately, with their own DNA and RNA quite different from ours....Without them, we would not move a muscle, drum a finger, think a thought.
        Mitochondria are stable and responsible lodgers, and I choose to trust them. But what of the other little animals, similarly established in my cells, sorting and balancing me, clustering me together? My centrioles, basal bodies, and probably a good many other more obscure tiny beings at work inside my cells, each with its own special genome, are as foreign, and as essential, as aphids in anthills. My cells are no longer the pure line entities I was raised with; they are ecosystems more complex than Jamaica Bay.
        I like to think that they work in my interest, that each breath they draw for me, but perhaps it is they who walk through the local park in the early morning, sensing my senses, listening to my music, thinking my thoughts....
        I have been trying to think of the earth as a kind of organism, but it is no go....It is too big, too complex, with too many working parts lacking visible connections....If not like an organism, what is it like, what is it most like? Then, satisfactorily for that moment, it came to me: it is most like a single cell.

        --Lewis Thomas, 1974



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