Poem: "Buffer's Own"

This poem was inspired and sponsored by marina_bonomi in honor of her profession as a cultural mediator.  Additional ideas for the individual challenges came from xjenavivex, janetmiles, jenny_evergreen, and "tonithegreat.  This poem is set in my main science fiction universe.

When humanity refracted itself
across the galaxy,
adapting to different planets,
the one became the many
and the many multiplied like dandelions in the wind.

When we discovered other sentient species,
we found our thoughts reflected in their own --
the same image reversed, curved,
warped along strange passages.
They sensed in us a wavering reflection of themselves,
alien, yet undeniably akin.

There were disputes and disagreements,
a thousand conflicts scaling inexorably toward combat.
When the WAR came, we were all of us unprepared
for the flashfire of atavism.

But we came out of that crucible changed,
alloyed, tempered
into something new and resilient.
We left warfare on the slag heap of history
and smelted our society into something else,
bright and keen and flexible.

The first recorded Buffer
was Baki Driscol,
a veteran of the WAR.
Though early accounts implied
that he helped to bring an end to the WAR,
Driscol always insisted that he merely picked up the pieces
after humanity collectively went sane.

The Buffer's Own were chosen from those who got it,
though attempts to describe "it" are reliably untranslatable.
We only know that some who see a Buffer in action
instantly comprehend the concept
and come to sit at the feet of a teacher
to study the details.
Thus they spread, from one species to another,
throughout the galaxy,
a fine dusting of graphite between the gears that grind.

When the Cancerian hermits declare,
"Any decent person carries his house on his back!"
and the homeless humans slyly mug them for shelter,
the Buffer's Own are there to make arrangements
for the orderly providence and exchange of dwellings.

When the proponents of radical longevity
seek to extend their lifespan
and the proponents of natural mortality
demand, "What makes you think you deserve to live forever?"
the Buffer's Own are there to remind them all
that everyone's choices must be respected
if anyone is to be free to make choices.

When the Corvane argue that
logic is the only way to solve a problem
(any problem, every problem, all  problems)
and the Columbey reply that
instinct is the answer to all questions,
and the issue aloft at the moment is one
that requires both or none of the above,
it is the Buffer's Own who know
to call in the Philosopher Stones, in whom
intelligence and intuition meet at the far ends.

When the Philosopher Stones sit and think,
think and sit, then sit some more while they think
and the Bonos are too busy making peace to stop and consider
whether what they have just enthusiastically agreed upon
is actually a good idea after all,
it is the Buffer's Own who suggest
that they might learn from each other
and balance out the extremes.

Like seawater, like blood,
chemical buffers are everywhere: Life's answer
to the challenges of extremes.
A self-correcting system is not static,
but simply draws itself towards its balance point.
It is the Buffer's Own who seek the common ground
to build civilization within the comfort zone.