It has been raining for a few days now
In the Appalachian mountains of New York,
The very rains that flooded Georgia.

They had a long drought there,
And prayed for its end,
Led by their holy Governor,
But the drought continued.

Perhaps now they pray for the rains to stop,
But it’s still a very rainy night in Georgia.

As we have been fine-tuned by evolution
To exist in our little corner of the universe,
The water falling from the sky
In its pattern of circulation from evaporation
Is in our best interest, in the general sense,
That is, but not so much in the specific sense
Since any one region may get
Too much or too little;
The farmer has different wishes than those
In the wedding party across the road.

My office is usually outside on the back deck
For the three fair seasons,
Even under a big umbrella in light rain,
But, due to the heavy downpours today,
I must soon retire to my alternate office
The spacious boiler room
That’s partway underground.

It looks like the end of the world outside now,
It being almost dark at 3 PM,
A fitting day to write about The Beginning,
So to speak, although a beginning there never was,
For ‘something’ was always around and about,
For the lack of ‘something’ is not in evidence here,
Nor could “it” have been productive,
As it as no being.

While that is elementary,
It is not the total unveiling of reality,
But is merely the ‘why’
Of the natural state of affairs.

And, while the causeless not being able
To have any intent or definiteness to it
Is indeed the ultimate SuperToe,
We must still explain ‘how’ it operates.

I keep the boiler room dark,
Even though it has a light,
The better for the screen of the laptop
To shine in all its colorful glory.

So, I traverse the darkness now, like a ninja,
Led by the glow of the computer’s
Pulsing sleep indicator,
Knowing that nothing is in the way.

Here, in this semisecret chamber,
Is the one and only jewel-encrusted edition
Of the ‘Great Omar’
That I fished up from the Titanic
Lying on the floor of the North Atlantic.

The Rubáiyát Publisher’s Gem

These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred,
Each softly lucent as a rounded moon;
The diver Omar picked them from their bed,
Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.

The Rare Book

The lone jewel encrusted ‘Great Omar’,
Now worth over 20 million dollars.
Sunk, with the mighty Titanic.
I plucked it up from the North Atlantic.

Here, too, the cane of GrandMaster West,
Whose adventures are detailed
In ‘Butterflies At the Edge of Forever’.

Toe Questors from http://www.toequest.com
Discover the Secrets of the Universe,
As well as the humorously
Dangerous implications
That follow their possession of the Holy Grail
Of the genuine Theory of Everything.

With the world’s future hanging in the balance,
They sharpen their wits and skills
Through the teachings
Of the learnéd Grand Masters.

Here, as well, Aristotle’s ‘lost’ book,
‘Beyond Metaphysics’, one of its many variants
Obtained from the Library of Babel—
A repository that contains all possible books,
Most of them unintelligible.


“No, mostly gibberish,
But I found one on a table
That someone must have treasured.”

“Oh, yes, he spent his entire lifetime here.
It’s Plato’s ‘Beyond Metaphysics’.”

Here, too, I have some nuggets of gold
Found in the original Garden of Eden
That was located in the heart
Of the Amazon Jungle,
Wherein lie massive fields of Lady’s Slippers
And all of the flowers of Paradise.

I reached up—and put the apple back on the tree.

And the Celtic Chronicles, I have, as well,
That I found in an iron box
Beneath Glastonbury Abbey,
And, from the tomb of the Holy Sepulcher—
The Grail itself, as told in ‘Last Knight’s Almanac’.

The best definition of the word “almanac(k)”
Is the word itself, that is,
Or sometimes, ALL MY KNACK.

Too, the secrets of the DIA,
All of which “never happened”,
And the ‘Astronomical Wonders of Outer Space’,
‘The Triumph of Life, Love, and Being’,
‘Magical Moments’,
And ‘The Universal Day’,
Along with the original drawing
Of Fredrick’s separation of the forces
That shows the weak and the strong forces
In their opposition and the electrical
And the magnetic in their transition.

[electric<—>magnetic] & [weak vs. strong]

Here, as well, a sliver of the True Cross,
A small vial containing a drop
Of the Virgin Mary’s milk,
A pebble, from a moon rock,
Given to me by a polymath
Who works for the President,
A smart thinking
And talking cricket named Crick,
From ‘Wick and the Cricket’,
The tip of the spear that pierced
The side of the Saviour,

A few molecules of immortal air from Egypt,
Some secret papers retrieved from the shaft
Of the bottomless CIA trash pit,
A thriving rose bush, just outside the window,
That was begun from Khayyàm’s
11th century garden,
‘Flamberge’—Prince Valiant’s ‘Singing Sword’
(Twin to ‘Excalibur’),
Thomas Jefferson’s briefcase,
An original and intact Ming Dynasty vase,
The third [missing] tablet of Commandments,
And, on the wall, hanging, Nobody’s epitaph,
Written by himself
And now emblazoned on his tombstone:

Hitherto whereby whence we came?

Are we talking consciousness relative to ‘C’
Or fully present as events they occur
Thence they went?

Do we see a dead star shining brightly
In the fully present Now
Albeit partially past then?

Here, too, one of ProfPat’s protons
That can never roll off the end of the desk,
Ever stopping at the edge, and returning,
As well as an enlarged copy of the WMAP survey—
A blank spot in it perhaps indicating
A universal size collision.
And, too, the solution to gravity,
And it as means for the quantum collapse,
As well as a tennis ball with my initials
Marked on it in a yin-yang style.

Yet, all of these treasure pale in comparison
To Reality’s Truth unveiled.

And so this Truth shall be revealed, presented,
Displayed, shown, exhibited
Released and launched,
Brought out and disclosed,
Divulged and made known,
Broadcast and communicated, in due time,
But, one must prepare to receive it.

In it, science and religion converge, but not quite;
Everything meets Nothing, almost;
The definite and the indefinite approach,
But just nearly; however,
Beauty does become the meaning of Truth.

All of these treasures pale in comparison
To Reality’s Truth unveiled.

I also have the ‘treasure’ of a preliminary,
But solid indication of the Higgs particle’s existence,
Which Lisa Randall was nice enough to give me
From the LHC’s latest analysis.

I am now holding part of a brick that came from
Nero’s very recently discovered revolving banquet hall
That kept pace with the turn of the Earth.
I am about to ponder the existence of this brick,
But that would probably be too disruptive to my life,
So I’m going out to date some old fossil instead…

I’m back—and she is very young at heart
And quite exciting, so we are trying to tone it down
By smoking some pot and pondering the brick.
Just kidding.

Actually, I’m thinking of the Library of Congress,
For I heard that it has five hundred miles of stacks.
It began anew, after burning by the British,
When Thomas Jefferson donated his personal library.
I found his personal diary
In the lining of his brief case.
It said the founding fathers wanted to retain a Deity
To save the new nation from the religious
Superstitions associated with a Theity.

I hold in my hand a bone from
Early sapiens or of proto-man.
He is not gone, though,
But lives on in your heart and mine,
As in him lived all those before
In which the universe itself came to life. Amen.

Yet, all of these treasures pale in comparison
To reality’s truth unveiled…