Feynman was one of the new rising stars of academic physics during the Manhattan Project that developed the atomic bomb. It is my personal opinion that between him and Oppenheimer, Feynman is the finer intellect by a country mile. Like me, he doesn’t see physics or the world around him in terms of numbers to be mathematically juggled, or formulas to be memorized. In doing that you only learn the correct answer to one specific problem. If you dig in, try to visualize the minute details of what’s actually going on and why things behave as they do, you often find the answers to other questions. Or you are presented with other questions that will take you to the correct answers.
I had an epiphany on Dawg Island seven or ten years ago, at 5:00 am in the morn. I tramped along, lost in my worries and woes when I slipped and fell into a yellow snow bank. I floundered as I tried to get up and fell in again. I sat there for a moment, with ice, snow and old piss melting on my face and running down into my shirt under my coat. I was at the lowest point of my life. My career and employers were falling apart. My family and asshole in-laws were doing the same. My daughter was going off the rails. My religious epiphany came as I slowly melted in a snow bank … when a single, solitary incredibly tiny snow flake caught my attention as it slowly passed under my head lamp and settled on my mitt. It couldna been more than half a mil across. So tiny and fragile. It caught me by surprise, and all I could do was admire the beauty and elegance of it. Time seemed to contract and slow as I gazed at it. It was the purest white, except where it caught and hypnotically reflected the light and sparkled like a diamond. It rested on my mitt as if it belonged there, not giving the slightest hoot about me, my problems, my worries … and all that concentrated beauty and elegance was a direct and brutal repudiation of all the shit and blackness that was hitting the fan at that point in my life. Presently another incredibly small snowflake settled next to the first. Just as beautiful and pure, and small, and just as exquisitely wrought as the first. I wondered why they were all different? I understand accretion but could not remember the mechanics or visualize the forces in play that created them. That was when time and light and sound seemed to stop for me. These tiny, beautiful works of art didn’t just happen from random forces. They were made. The Artisan that crafted them could leave a Swiss watch maker in the dust. I saw the art; it followed that there must be an Artisan, and that in turn meant that He must literally be right under my nose. It followed then that he’d been there all along and I was just seeing Him now… and it was then that I *think* I sensed a vague, mildly mirthful but approving presence.
And then it was gone. The world returned. Macey was snuffling my ear and giving me wet Willie’s. Mort had his nose in a pile of old dog shit, possibly having a transcendent epiphany of his own… and I laughed for the first time in a long, long time. The world and creation were bigger and more complex than I could possibly fathom. Like those snowflakes, I was just another one in a blizzard full of them. The blizzard was going to do as its Maker willed; I was borne along by its forces and shaped by them and had no control over anything. Other people had their own plans, their own problems and forces acting on them too. I had NO control over anything or any of them and sure…maybe that’s scary…but I had no responsibility for them either. They were pushed along just as I was; I was doing well just by waking up alive and well in the morning. Guilt melted and fell away. I was not responsible for them or the other idiots in my life at the time - I was responsible only for the bum in the mirror. For me it was the day the Universe changed. And everything was going to be okay.
I laugh because here is Feynman in all his jewish glory: he can visualize the space between atoms. He can measure some quantities that infer the presence of others that are unimaginably small. The math at the quantum level is incredibly complex, but beautiful in a way that makes the prettiest snowflake or crystal pale by comparison. But even he has limits where his perception fails. The forces in play at that level cannot be understood by people that exist in three dimensions. To make them work one would have to live in ten.
Why can’t you push your hand through a solid table,
or fall through the floor?
Maybe because God doesn’t want you to, you jewish twat!
HAR HAR HAR!!!
I won’t presume to speak for my Maker or tell you what to believe. But for me, I think there’s a reason why we live in three dimensions, but have been given the ability to perceive the other seven. Carl Sagan (another jew) was wrong when he said the earth is an insignificant pale blue dot in a nondescript obscure galaxy. Feynman is wrong to say we are mere random coherent patterns.
I think we are like those incredibly tiny, beautiful snowflakes out on Dawg Island. A lot of care went into our making. The blizzard is not a chaotic entropic tumult - it’s a beautiful symphony of air pressure, humidity, wind and heat. And we are much more than “random patterns”.
But whadda I know? Only that it takes a mighty big dawg to f*** an elephant, and that if you want to find your Maker… look deep and hard at the little, tiny every day things. The gifts you are given will not be where you expect to find them - I found one of mine in a yellow snow bank. But I wouldn’t trade that for the world… and I hope you find yours in better and cleaner circumstances.
Have a great Sunday.
Filthie
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