This post is a bit abstract and seemingly unconnected to anything. So for balance on this 2012th Christmas, I have included a deeply touching story at the end.
In the previous post, the match between the real world planet earth and the ideal of the bode cluster’s central sphere proceeded from the notion that in an infinite center-less universe, it is still one universe by definition, and one with a distinct beginning.
By such assessment, an act of creation is suggested – with a Creator at the (physically undeterminable) center of all.
In hopes of the connection made between bode geometry and our planet is a metaphysically sound one (beyond the baser arguments made previously), the next step proceeds from the reality that earth – like virtually all celestial bodies – is a spinning sphere with an axis of rotation. The question is how the bode is oriented relative to the poles.
The 4 bode orientation candidates are each charactetized by opposing geometric elements: edges, squares, triangles, and vertices. Of these, vertices signify the end-points of the 12 lines radiating from the bode’s intrinsic center; and because the end-points oppose each other exactly on either side of that center, the 12 lines connecting them to the center are actually 6 extended ones. As each passes through the center of the central sphere, any may be viewed as corresponding to earth’s axis.
So designated, the bodal shell (or the anti-entropic thunderhead if viewed in its spherical manifestation) is regarded as spinning relative to the fixed earth sphere such that any prime bode geometric element situated directly out from the equator may be positioned to any longitude, instantaneously, in a maneuver termed primary rotation. Only by selecting opposing vertices may the axis position all bode elements symmetrically relative to earth’s natural lines of longitude.
To further locate bode elements to any latitude (of any longitude), imaginary axes are placed through the mid-points of the opposing elements situated directly out from the equator. Elements situated at right angles to them may then be rotated about the equatorial axes in what are termed secondary rotations to so position them, again instantaneously.
To recap, by the real and imaginary axes, primary and secondary rotations may locate all geometric elements in all their symmetric possibilities anywhere at any time. This capability is important in practice because each element symmetry represents a particular pattern orientation possessing special applicability.
Although imaginary axes may be pegged to the midpoints of any pair of equatorially opposing bode elements, the axis spanning the lone pair of vertices enables elements to be positioned latitudinally in a manner that is complementary to how the natural axis positions them longitudinally to thus pose a mode having a universal nature.
Such universality expresses the idea of all space/time positions being equivalent, and may further reflect a more sublime parallel in which every unique perspective represented by an individual soul is of equal value to the ultimate Creator of the one universe.
So much for abstract derivations. Now on to the story I heard during the Christmas season years ago on NPR. Remembering it days ago, I got so choked up I could hardly describe it to a loved one.
ON THE EDGE OF COMMON SENSE
by Baxter Black, DVM
THE LAST BURRO
He was the last burro left in the dusty corral.
His two companions had been sold by the man. They were younger, stronger and finer looking even by burro standards, which are quite high. They were worth more and brought more money which was what the man needed.
Pickin’s were slim. Every evening the man would stake the last burro out down below the spring to graze. During the day he went with the man and packed mud or water or rocks or wood.
One morning the man fed him a small bowl of grain. This continued for several days until the morning the man brushed him down, bobbed his tail and trimmed his long whiskers. Next thing he knew, the burro was blanketed and fit with a pack saddle. Two panyards were hung over the frame and a thick pad was laid between the forks.
The burro watched with his wise burro eyes as the man led the woman out to the hitch rail and gently lifted her up on his pack saddle. The man shouldered his own pack, picked up his walkin’ stick and clucked to the burro.
The burro was old but he carried the load as easily as an old man milks a goat. From memory… automatic. As he walked down the road he passed his two younger, stronger companions. They were hitched to a water wheel and strained in their harness as they walked round and round. ‘Better this than that’, thought the last burro.
They walked all day. It was the cool season, his hooves were hard as iron. The woman balanced well.
The second day the woman got off and walked a while. The man tied his pack on the saddle and they walked on. As the days went by the woman got off more often and they’d stop to rest for a while.
They arrived in a town late one night. The man went in a house. The woman waited. Momentarily the man returned and led the burro around back to the stable. The burro was glad to get the saddle off. He was watered, tied in a far corner and fed some grass hay.
The burro watched as the man put a blanket in one of the stalls and laid the woman down. Time passed. Later in the night the woman walked out carrying a man-child and laid him in a hay manger.
The burro slept, as old men do, with one ear cocked. He saw the sheepmen come, he heard the singing. He’d heard it before. The burro had worked the sheep camps.
Next morning the man fed and watered the burro and left. While he was gone the woman picked up the man-child and brought him to the burro. She raised one of his tiny hands and stroked the burro’s soft nose. She, herself, patted the burro’s neck.
On the trip back home the woman and man-child rode on the burro’s back.
As the years went by the woman would bring the growing man-child out to the corral and hold him up or set him on the burro’s back. She would talk man-talk to the child. And when the burro got too old to work the man-child would come and stroke his nose and give him a handful of grain.
One day the burro could no longer get up. He became frightened. The woman and the grown young man came to the corral and held his head in their laps. They patted his rough coat and stroked his soft nose. Eventually the burro closed his eyes. He felt a teardrop on his face. It was the last thing he ever felt.
Note: used with author permission from his book “Poems Worth Saving”; please do not download/print without express permission from the author.
That would be:
Coyote Cowboy Company
PO Box 2190
Benson, Arizona 85602