THE GEOMETRICAL PARADISE

today he found an old scale
He noticed the scale’s pan weighs a hundred and twenty grams
That’s twelve decigrams. “Let’s take a picture.” he decided

then he measured how much gold he had left at home
Three, …and four kilos
Great! “Cousin Magnus sure will be happy to hear about this.” he thought

then he remembed the words of Paul Claudel:

one hundred and forty four is twelve times twelve
Twelve is three multiplied by four, the square multiplied by the triangle
Twelve is the root of the sphere, it is the figure of perfection

twelve times twelve is the perfection multiplied by itself
It is the perfection raised to the cube, the plenitude which excludes
anything other than itself: THE GEOMETRICAL PARADISE

(my translation)

paradise or divine grace
Simple, elegant beauty; an extraordinary dance
Mercy; extra time or being out of time

when he looks at a clock and it is twelve past twelve
He stops for a minute or two
To contemplate a few arguments of great weight

I am a bubble
In a bubble universe. . .
Pop!

::: ::: :::

[Picture: 120g past weightlessness by reading_is_dangerous]

Paul Claudel (1868 - 1955) was a French poet, dramatist and diplomat, and the younger brother of the sculptor Camille Claudel. He was most famous for his verse dramas, which often convey his devout Catholic faith.

By the way, I really found that scale today.