To find yourself in the infinite, you must distinguish and then unite- Goethe
Voco Vocare Vocavi Vocatus
vox verve vent vocalize
Verbum verbī verbō
visualize verbalize vitalize
and there you have it.
Inspiration derived itself and surged through sacred byways depositing mass and dimension, time splayed flat against the front bumper just ahead of the breach where whimsy swallowed a unified creation and spit it back out in eleven dimensions; before-[time/space] cataclysmically sliced, and He who knows the end from the beginning knew the complications of a multiverse and played it.
Luminous Lucifer: to what end? It’s what comes from trying to budget inspiration, compress leftovers into a one sublime creature: a magnificence so startling it unhinged fidelities and induced a gobsmacked stupor, zealots incapable of anything but a drooling reverence; they failed the breath test and fell
ahead of the fracture, and
calculus
is what
they fell
through.
Esperanto of the gods, cosmic taxi driver/tour guide/translator (roughly, very roughly)
of enigmata, desiderata.
No matter which axis you slice
an/infinite/number/of/slices/sandwiched/together/make/the/loaf
and there’s always room for one more.
Calculus—that traitorous Frankenstein accreting its legends and limbs across the centuries, unveiling every hiding place, pointing its decrepit finger at every entrance and exit. This was the infinite sum they rode to safety; and at its edge, cutting the trail of its unfurling, was light—pulling the ethereal decoder by its v-v-vagaries, trailing footprints as big as stars.
The Fundamental Theorem of Reckoning warns that the perfected integral of inspiration between the fracture and the fusion as t → zero hour is equal to the derived imagination of the multiverse minus politicians, poets, hubris.
And then shall The Theory of Everything appear, the mother of all antiderivatives casually scrawled across his thigh like a crib note, the badass integral that will cause black holes to belch their booty and Stephen Hawking to rise from the dead, the rebound that will pull gravity back onto its spools, and collapse wormholes into paving tiles in His foyer.
And this galactic gansta, this cosmological commander, shall peg rebellion to the hem of the cosmos with a shout, and the burning you smell will be the brakes as light decelerates from c2 to zero, and the BANG that you hear will be calculus meeting its limits, guts flayed, as light, that great usurper, succumbs in a universe without shadow, without sun, without moon. And the gentle trickle of tiles as the periodic table collapses into its single pre-elemental glory will be the last sound you hear from these former days.
https://www.etymonline.com/word/calculus
Judith Solano Mayer is a Pacific Northwest transplant with an ancient history in physical science. She enjoys the porosity of the multiverse and tries to incorporate its character into her poetry whenever possible.