No one would claim the glass of wine which sat in the fridge for long weeks. It had been poured, half drunk, and then placed on the bottom shelf to remain chilled until an errand or task was completed. And then, forgotten, the wine remained and faded beyond conscious memory.
As it stayed there, no one knew to whom it belonged, no one remembered to whom it owed its current station, and none would removed it for fear of facing the wrath of the unidentified owner of the glass and its contents.
And, as the tenure of the glass on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator lengthened, those who opened the fridge would continue to insist that the presence of the wine had meaning. “Certainly,” all thought, “someone would claim the wine. Surely someone would miss it if it were moved.” And no one was willing to test the attributed value of the tiny glass, whose contents had long since turned to vinegar and had started to become cloudy with life.
And because of the convergence of meaning attributed and responsibility forsaken, the life, growing in the chalice, clouding the once bright liquid, had been born a new creature. The wine was no longer wine, it was something greater, something more. And within those cloudy depths could surely be found the secrets of the universe. All could be discovered in the microcosmos of activity evolving in the cool, pleasant place of the bottom shelf.
And then, defying the sacred Mystery of that which the wine had become, thinking it not a matter of transcendence, but rather a matter of desipience, someone finally asked, “Whose wine is this anyway? Can I throw it out now?” And, in a splash, the universe, once created, was gone.
desipience: / des-SIP-ee-ance / noun. Latin. foolishness, silliness. 2. Relaxed dallying in enjoyment of foolish trifles.
Another import from the Latin, specifically from desipientia. In English its other forms include despient.