The present view of the creation, the “standard big bang model,” maintains that the entire universe originated in an enormous explo- sion. All matter was once concentrated into a very confined region in a primordial matter soup. This matter soup expanded rapidly— it exploded. In so doing it cooled down, enabling nuclei, then atoms, and finally much later galaxies, stars and planets to condense out of it. This explosion is still going on today. Heinz R. Pagels, THE COSMIC CODE
If I had been, in the beginning, God
brooding upon the womb of absence,
I might well have pondered: matter, plucked
from emptiness in an immense
explosion, then allowed,
with its expanding space, to cool-
yes, that’s the way to father
forth a universe, according to the rule
(My favorite) of entropy
increase which makes time irreversible,
measures
out, enabling
nuclei, then atoms, galaxies-the full,
harmonious display
of stars and planets to condense into
existence, always changing,
always entertaining Me with something new.
And scattered randomly throughout
My galaxies, conditions surely will occur
for oxygen and carbon
to combine, under an ordinary star, to stir
inert cells to divide
and replicate themselves, and live, until
evolving consciousness reveals
My thoughts as children who can share the thrill
of watching, bud by bud by leaf,
sweet fruitful things unfold
and be-and be replaced in shifts of light
from green to red, from green to gold,
and red consumed in flourishing decay.
I worry that their mortal wish
for life to last will ruin
the fleeting pleasure of their feast. . . . Relish
it all, My sons, with eyes, with ears;
savor all songful matter with your tongue,
like soup, with zestful words,
and, while the universe is young-
just fifteen billion years, although much colder
now than when it was begun
blazing in hundred billions of degrees—
this is your moment in the sun,
a household star. Love her,
add something of your own to what you see:
describe her as a grazing cow
across a field, perhaps a pollinating bee
who scents the apple blossoms
lifting upwind on the wafted air.
Name her Dolores, when she frowns
on cloudy afternoons, or, when her hair
is loose like flowing wheat,
praise her clear radiance and call her Grace;
don’t let your knowledge-she
cannot remain―mar your approval of her face.
And you, Professor Pagels, you
will serve as my most recent representative;
of all the holy names I’ve had,
Big Bang is raunchy good as any you can give
with my original
explosion, lo!, still going on today.
But please remind your rhyming friend
that even laughing fathers pass away.
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