Thursday, December 27, 2012

Creative Cosmic Chemistry

Creative Cosmic Chemistry

L. Edgar Otto    Saturday, 22 December, 2012

"I recall reading once the lost poems of the sea horse, that the world began with Olney and the Mare Maid and the once and only single kiss..."
                                                  The Pe Sla

Does it seem that long ago that Dalton's dream came back again and its spring time of a thousand flowers.  These so fast the reawakening that further down into the discovery and filling of elements of the periodic table the dramatis personae past the outer planets gave them their names?

Somewhere near its end, Lawrencium, shooting charges into gold foil, finding the nucleus deep in the center, only this time around we gaze thru atoms themselves with our super colliders.  Perhaps, we would have come closer to a wider grasp of the terrain, more rapid our journey if in the heart of man we did not risk in stumbles and acceleration into unknowns writing themselves out of this play.

* * * * *

I grow tired to type tonight, I missed so much in my one visit to Zurich as a young and inexperienced world traveler to which the travel show on PBS I saw tonight reminded me of my walk down from its higher parts, missed the street car, Sunday morning to the stereo symphony of many church bells changing by my walking all the way down.

I would have liked to catch the mana from those in the bread guild and watched the boogy snow man burn, not that fond of the long nite moon, so say goodbye to him as begins winter.

There seems some natural delay in the imagined effects from the new moon, or some debate as the days grow longer tho the earth is further away until new spring, or that the procession of the poles complete some calendar gyre, the earth not just to end in bangs and whimpers, ice and fire- as so say the poets... our lips taste but do we really know in the seasons of passion why and what we are doing?  Whence the change of falling into or out of love, the precise or creeping moment, the seeds of world's end for our mundane affairs, monk isolation, prophesy of the return in triumph of the good as the stars move from Pieces into the New Age Aquarius, the Phoenix of spring's passion?

So for now I leave you my page of notes in a photo, raw and esoteric its symbols, but a note to myself with the notations still working out, and the words, a work of art perhaps only.  It concerns the recent speculations and long time points of theory to which I have pinpointed the moment I made early intuitions that grounded deeper things even when I did not quite know or think to question what in such a path I was thinking.  It concerns the source of the physics of this world, especially the what and why of dark matter and energy as creative depths to which we would well found a better grasp of higher symmetries.

Or I might wait to post the notes, with footnotes, explanations, and translations... but so far I have not done so with older page images posted - nor does it seem I can keep a promise that the next day I will have nothing more or new to say- still the project needs more of time, even time without a measure, than other pleasures mundane.  The technical and formal study now goes very rapidly where the hieroglyphs and equations are so clear they have long been left behind almost before the mastering- but this is a long time concern, what should be devoted to old work if it takes away from the new- even with the harsh truth that much of our creative work, like my pipe songs of the sea horse, may be lost in the manuscript or in time by retrospection.  That and when does any work begin or end?

This may also shed more light on the dynamics of our mind at a time such issues seem to rule the day.  In our monoliths of time we are all star babies as the science fiction goes, I in a series of aging and room toward some all to real end time that is too mature to waste life on a rant so small if sung into the wind.  And we apes do not know as awakened what we will do- but we will to think of something...  Let us then be the thinkers, and let us kiss, build our sculptures made of parts, so well in the search for a little unity these can fit together.

At some cliff again in punctuated Heraclitean change let us take the higher moral road so not to be, we would be Magi and Caliban, insensible to our creative destiny rearmed as noble beings to which (Fowles is profound by the way and I wonder sometimes what few books stand out, even some technical as my long companions, even dated, obsolete only to see them return in our shared wisdom again- how these may have influenced me for ill or good or so appears to others) the universe like God, does not load the dice and walk away.  But these worlds are yours if you want them, save perhaps those that in their own way will arise like we have...

"But you were old enough to have a choice,
yet too young to have a voice as
They sent your puppy into the night and
still they don't know why, those holding up your sky,
You freaked out come the morning light..."

                     from my song,
                                            "Conni Who Passed Through"

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