The only go-bag the microbiome needs is our skin, skin as flaky as mine, skin as smooth as the baby we once were lost now, many, many kingdoms worlds, zones ago
Upon arrival, everything sheds, communities interact, wage war, make love, greet each other compare origin stories, adjust to new food, water substrates.
Whole cultures, evolve, fail, die and become food for their progeny -- I spent a little too much time in the shared toilet the first few days, considering the magnitude of the host or legion, as the old priests would have said not knowing yet, attraction can, sometimes be reduced to opposing immune systems, wanting to mate to create a possibility
of future stability, adaptability, something naively called peace when The Little Ones are kinetic dynamic, carrying the bulk of our wants
and desires Now they meet the fecund cultures of men, women, trees, dogs, cats, the yeasts specific to Northern California differing from one bank of the Russian River to the other, bend to bend
How do my Bifidus react to their giant cousins, the algae native and invasive as along the pools the currents, the eddies we go?
We move through the vast, vast the billions, billions, the trillions, trillions believing we’re singular, while each septic macrophage, every singular mold, osprey, otter, heron, duck, jay, rat scat contains a universe of funk, negotiating with their own diplomatic corps of negotiators, soldiers, politicians who inflame politicians who soothe, mediators, changelings liers, truth sayers, engineers, thieves with specialties like lock picking
And, although I am familiar with the language, it had been a while, for all of us -- No wonder
it took a few days for us to fit in.