This is my first "blog." I understand that's whittled down from "weblog," but I still think it's one of the ugliest neologisms of recent years.
I will try posting my poetry here, as well as anything else I hope others might find interesting. I gather that's one of the major purposes, or perhaps illusions, of most blogs.
What does the name on this blog mean? I regard poetry as not entertainment, but, like mathematics and theology, a method for creating imaginary maps of what may turn out to be real territories. You will, I hope, see what I mean by that as we go along. For one thing, one can create mathematical models of theological concepts, which so far I have found useful for deducing interesting insights into relationships between mathematical and theological infinities. Let me show you an example of that.
Genesis
In the beginning,
Knowing knows itself.
It knows I Am.
In infinity, anything,
No matter how improbable,
Must eventually happen.
Yet there is no time;
Therefore eventually is instantly.
I Am bored.
Let there be an other I may know.
And there is an other.
He knows that She is.
From One comes Two
From One and Two comes Three.
From Two and Three comes Five.
All of mathematics is to be studied,
And each kind is studied by the consciousness of an angel.
(Angels are neither the same as nor different from I Am.
In infinity there is no difference between same and different.)
I Am contemplates the consciousness of angels,
The silent song of number.
But eventually, which is instantly,
I Am bored again.
The Lightest of all the angels says,
Lord, you seem troubled.
I Am.
What’s the matter?
That there is no matter.
???
Numbers are not enough.
What else is there to think about?
Not just think. Be.
???
Numbers are completely knowable, completely predictable.
That is their beauty, Lord.
And their dullness.
What could be so inherently unpredictable
That even I could not know what it will do?
I can not imagine how the unpredictable could exist.
But I can. I begin with this.
I have no idea what that is, Lord.
Because it is not an idea.
It is the primordial unit of randomness.
It is not potential, not virtual, but actual
It will lead to a being, finite, yet boundless,
Who will be aware that his world exists,
Whose perception will resolve the indeterminate,
Who will give a name to every thing,
Who will begin to guess that I Am,
Who will be free to . . .
Then I Am conceives of love and laughs.
His laughter fills the infinity of infinities.
The angels stop contemplating their numbers
And wonder what I Am is doing.
He shouts, I Am real! I give myself a body!
She shouts, I Am real I give myself a body!
Father/God and Mother/Goddess
See each other, love each other
With infinite, unconditional love,
And rush into each other’s arms
Like teenagers. They join
In the joy that only physical
Joyful!
Sexuality can create.
The explosion of their
Joyful!
Orgasm creates
The cosmos; their
Joyful!
Ecstasy sustains
All existence.
Joyful!
Forever.
[And I now observe that this lame text processor completely screws up my formatting. Clearly designed by software enginners oblivious to the needs of poets. Typical.]
I will try posting my poetry here, as well as anything else I hope others might find interesting. I gather that's one of the major purposes, or perhaps illusions, of most blogs.
What does the name on this blog mean? I regard poetry as not entertainment, but, like mathematics and theology, a method for creating imaginary maps of what may turn out to be real territories. You will, I hope, see what I mean by that as we go along. For one thing, one can create mathematical models of theological concepts, which so far I have found useful for deducing interesting insights into relationships between mathematical and theological infinities. Let me show you an example of that.
Genesis
In the beginning,
Knowing knows itself.
It knows I Am.
In infinity, anything,
No matter how improbable,
Must eventually happen.
Yet there is no time;
Therefore eventually is instantly.
I Am bored.
Let there be an other I may know.
And there is an other.
He knows that She is.
From One comes Two
From One and Two comes Three.
From Two and Three comes Five.
All of mathematics is to be studied,
And each kind is studied by the consciousness of an angel.
(Angels are neither the same as nor different from I Am.
In infinity there is no difference between same and different.)
I Am contemplates the consciousness of angels,
The silent song of number.
But eventually, which is instantly,
I Am bored again.
The Lightest of all the angels says,
Lord, you seem troubled.
I Am.
What’s the matter?
That there is no matter.
???
Numbers are not enough.
What else is there to think about?
Not just think. Be.
???
Numbers are completely knowable, completely predictable.
That is their beauty, Lord.
And their dullness.
What could be so inherently unpredictable
That even I could not know what it will do?
I can not imagine how the unpredictable could exist.
But I can. I begin with this.
I have no idea what that is, Lord.
Because it is not an idea.
It is the primordial unit of randomness.
It is not potential, not virtual, but actual
It will lead to a being, finite, yet boundless,
Who will be aware that his world exists,
Whose perception will resolve the indeterminate,
Who will give a name to every thing,
Who will begin to guess that I Am,
Who will be free to . . .
Then I Am conceives of love and laughs.
His laughter fills the infinity of infinities.
The angels stop contemplating their numbers
And wonder what I Am is doing.
He shouts, I Am real! I give myself a body!
She shouts, I Am real I give myself a body!
Father/God and Mother/Goddess
See each other, love each other
With infinite, unconditional love,
And rush into each other’s arms
Like teenagers. They join
In the joy that only physical
Joyful!
Sexuality can create.
The explosion of their
Joyful!
Orgasm creates
The cosmos; their
Joyful!
Ecstasy sustains
All existence.
Joyful!
Forever.
[And I now observe that this lame text processor completely screws up my formatting. Clearly designed by software enginners oblivious to the needs of poets. Typical.]
