Randall Carlson is American-born in this life, with, I think, Swedish forebears. I see him with an overlay of one of the ancient Greeks - maybe Plato. That is the impression I get when i view his YT vids and documentaries, like I am viewing a past-life aura.
Here is a poem I wrote last year to memorialise this strong feeling I have about him. (I have emailed this to his cronies, so I hope he got to read it):
CARLSON’S MONUMENT
In a life’s work, you have held the door open
For new ideas to enter, intermingle, and penetrate.
You’ve held the door against resistant tides, like floods in spate.
Your passion coincides with the timing of cyclic cosmic change
Where you help reveal what must be known, whether it be strange.
It seems to you the evidence counted, standing in your boots,
Is a payload that must shock and awe the cringing city suits.
Denial has been their strongest cry, but fissures in the stone
Now crack under water-weight. You no longer stand alone.
Can they swallow the concepts you bring to the fore,
Like the fifty-foot ripples in the basaltic river floor?
Modern men with eyes on distant stars have failed to glean
The message of an untaught history that you have seen.
The tale of Earth’s erratic past, not written on vellum or paper
But found in forsaken places, stamped there by a mysterious shaper:
A conjunction of comet, ice-cap, melt water and climatic reversal,
Forcing the shift of tons of rock and their dispersal
As mere grains of sand spread as it were upon a scrubbed land.
Our generation of humanity came as a late-comer to the terrain
Re-ordered by cataclysmic forces which happened in a flash to drain
The north of overload of ice, to flood the land and raise the sea.
The meaning of all this is enlightening to me.
Here is a poem I wrote last year to memorialise this strong feeling I have about him. (I have emailed this to his cronies, so I hope he got to read it):
CARLSON’S MONUMENT
In a life’s work, you have held the door open
For new ideas to enter, intermingle, and penetrate.
You’ve held the door against resistant tides, like floods in spate.
Your passion coincides with the timing of cyclic cosmic change
Where you help reveal what must be known, whether it be strange.
It seems to you the evidence counted, standing in your boots,
Is a payload that must shock and awe the cringing city suits.
Denial has been their strongest cry, but fissures in the stone
Now crack under water-weight. You no longer stand alone.
Can they swallow the concepts you bring to the fore,
Like the fifty-foot ripples in the basaltic river floor?
Modern men with eyes on distant stars have failed to glean
The message of an untaught history that you have seen.
The tale of Earth’s erratic past, not written on vellum or paper
But found in forsaken places, stamped there by a mysterious shaper:
A conjunction of comet, ice-cap, melt water and climatic reversal,
Forcing the shift of tons of rock and their dispersal
As mere grains of sand spread as it were upon a scrubbed land.
Our generation of humanity came as a late-comer to the terrain
Re-ordered by cataclysmic forces which happened in a flash to drain
The north of overload of ice, to flood the land and raise the sea.
The meaning of all this is enlightening to me.
Beautiful. Thank you!
