Um, Happiness is the Mystery of it All.

Is it modern art? Is it a frost-bitten orange? Perhaps it's a Christmas ornament that failed to find its way into the attic or basement.

No, it's none of these. This is a microscopic photo of sperm trying to fertilize an egg. It's not that I wish to blog about such a thing, but there seems to be an odd trend where sperm and egg stories fly my way. I pick them up because I think the two are highly metaphorical. Metaphors entertain me and make me ponder in happy thoughts.

The first time I thought about the relationship between sperm and egg was in Ruth Stone's poetry class when she declared to her wanna-be-writers in a raspy, prophetic voice, "Sperm? Sperm? You want your sperm to penetrate my egg? No! My egg swallows your sperm whole. It sucks it in and devours it."

Soon after, I read an article about how sperm ejaculates as a pack of wild dogs, street gangs who travel in groups and battle together to get to the egg. There's a war because vaginal fluids rush to wash the pollywogs away. Olympic teams need to work against each other to be the winner. Some of the army even turn their backs and wag their tails to rudder the secreted liquids away so that one Mighty Man Hank can get to the prize. It's survival of the fittest and eugenics.

Ah, but how masculine is that way of reading conception? Last night, in a research class, the professor discussed sperms and eggs and made the point that as science gets closer to their truth, subjectivity is always there to distort interpretation. How we see the world is socially constructed and therefore personal bias enters all we know. Interpretation of data becomes engendered, encultured and distorted. The sperm and egg narrative is a symbol of how we understand our truth.

I like to know details, but I question why others who like to know details, too, use their knowledge to springboard their own agenda. Narratives move forward regardless of whether or not we are able to collect data to help us in the tale.

Today, I'm fascinated by the miracle I am. Of all the millions of could-be "Bryans," I resulted as is.