AUTHOR'S PROLOGUE
The idea of writing about Creation or Cosmogony arose and began to ring in my head, in one of those mornings of youthful philosophy, in the year 1980, in Santiago, in a long conversation with a friend, Walter Huber, who I always remember for his unstoppable idealism. (They were very hard times).
Truly, everything opened up that night, on a balcony in the middle of the city, in spring, in the Paseo Tenderini - where I was living while studying advertising. It was based on the reading of an anthropological note, namely: "Evolutionist and Spiritualist Anthropology in Teilhard de Chardin: The Vision of the World or Teilhardian Cosmovision". (Fortunately, I've kept this dusty note).
But prior to this, I remember having been influenced by the infinite and obsessed by a fear of the void (1974). Then, in 1984, I was overcome by a "spatial attack" and out of this there emerged, this time as poems, the work that the reader has in his hands. But it wasn't the definitive manuscript. I was reading astronomy, astrophysics and gathering information on the latest and on classic theories of the creation of the universe (if it was formed at ONE time, given that we were already aware of its evolution). Reading Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time was a revelation. But I would have to read books such as Worlds and Antiworlds: Matter in Cosmology, by Hannes Alfvén, to find the meaning of this work.
On the other hand, my studies in Dialectical Materialism had already shaped me and left a profound impression. Yes, I was a classic atheist; but studying the cosmos and its mysteries, I came to "feel" the presence of God; but it's not a belief in a personal God, talking like Joyce, but rather a pantheistic identification with "reality"... There was (and there is) a "Something" always watching me... Perhaps there might be another influence (which made my work). Or my own soul watching me from outside myself and whistling an old song.
To sum up, I need to say finally that my vision of the world, in this work, is diametrically opposed to my first work, Testimony (of the Man), published in 1989-90, a work in which I vomit up my own soul in pieces. This second volume, Poem of the Creation, rescues my spirit and fits into my writing program.
Now, the reader will find a searching and resounding vision of God in the Cosmos and of one type of really distinct human being, more honest and of more consequence than those who walk on planet Earth these days.
(The idea of circularity and of altered times are to the point.)
THE CREATION enGODded
The right wing of God shivers
in the void;
the left flutters fine music:
from one to the other they fill with nothing and
harmonious breathing.
Remembering the future,
the past
not coming,
the imagination of God expanded
astral
in the most astral, spreading out
and returning to become part of so many
celestial latitudes.
He went about
dusting brilliant stars
through the empty void;
he went about
adorning the silence
with his singing glance:
it was his dream-reality
like bubbles of blue ice
that explode on awakening.
All symmetry and its sums
from all the opened legs
of his fertilized Goddesses
from which liquid galaxies continue to emerge,
that become present in a time without time.
It was the Universe that dropped
on the head of its Maker
it shattered his Soul;
the big bang was his first disintegrating
revolution
from thenceforth nothing can stop equality
becoming light.
The zero suddenly looked at God
he saw one thing
and then another
and another
and still another:
the zero thought that he was the centre,
but when he looked at himself
he understood that God was the absolute
zero,
the king of nothing,
the atheist -
shivering the ecstatic shiver
of immortality.
The zero spat at God
at the same time
as the Creator spat at the zero.
After lifting up the soul of the nothing
the infinite came
distilling the indigo outside the metagalaxy.
As if crying from joy
the mortality of two times:
what was and what will be.
And the galaxies travelling as in a dream
of pure truth.
The Supreme Being hallucinated
and then Imagined himself to himself
and out-thought all imagination itself.
The God of God
astonished his Creator.
Because He said this:
Creation was an accident;
a mistake
premeditated
through
calculation; a geometrical abstraction
on one of his lonely flights.
What was God doing within the nothing?
Only
one
time
did he entertain himself watching his dreams;
but the VOID came! and it seemed to him
that he no longer existed;
desperate! he twirled the top hat,
the imaginary zero, and then
his mind burst with emotion:
I saw (without seeing)
how the unstoppable desire
to perpetuate himself
poured from his amphora
of light
he had already changed his hands
into air, and breathing breaths, like pen pricks,
he built atomic worlds,
and in the contraction, he himself expanded:
because God was on the other side of the spatial
world
and he stretched and dissolved blue dreams
that gushed warm spirits.
Ah, yes it was
the n o t h i n g
how did the magician twirl the top hat?
but you can still see him, you can still feel him
sleeping in the bed of the infinite
with his head sunk in the zero.
An unconscious genius
a mad genius of the nothing
who makes the infinite shine or pale
breaking and sealing the hymens of cosmogonic
history.
Yes; Cosmogonist of God
YOU
who took from nothing
everything.
God is to blame
for all
the infinite,
for its contradictory
mix of pleasure-pain
fashioning the grapes of the
galaxies;
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