Autumn is a season that seems to want to say something, something subtle. At least here it is so, leaves turn colour, stiffen, fall – but not in the masses of red leafed classics.
The air turns too, with an edge, in the mornings when the sun begins later, and in the evenings when the night comes earlier.
The something that is being said is everywhere … understated, only in a feeling of its self.
Like Calabi-Yau dimensions, tightly curled, so tightly that they fall below the Planck threshold and in our reality are not measurable.
You have to infer these dimensions, when equations do not fit sufficiently, something is missing, so you suggest a ‘something’ that then achieves a sufficiency of fit.
If Time and Space are not sufficient, then add say a Fifth Dimension to make the electro-magnetic theories work.
Keep doing this as each set of next equations have a something missing.
The Cosmos then reveals itself in peaks rising through dense fogs, like dense mercurial waters of a bay that reveal their last millimetre before the sky, and beneath that is only the unimaginable.
What also helps are ideas that tumble out, steps along mathematical paths, one leading into another, until an entire fabrication of a surrealistic reality appears.
Then, looking for yet more explanation, embrace such surrealism whilst it is useful to fractionally penetrate below the millimetre.
Squirrels seem to emerge everywhere as Autumn unfolds, just being about in the suburb is a delight.
The Crazy Lady of the Summer Winds is keeping her hair in place, her wild energies have abated, and she breathes blue skies when they are not gray wanting to rain.
The mountain rocks hold the red of the sunrise, still and quiet.
Imagine the Calabi-Yau at any and every instance, like unseen Cosmic Flowers, tightly curled, packed with Secrets.
They surely have some use beyond the embrace of a puny string of equation, floating lost in the Explanation of Everything?
Perhaps therein the sense of psychics … ?
As we drove slowly through the suburb, without any intent other than to enjoy the branches baring, through blue sky, a lady and her dog were walking past a wall up ahead … a small dog, perhaps white … or white with something else …
As we approached they were gone, and still I think that there, where they were, was just a wall …
Copyright G. Rigotti 2016