From the Desk of Madame Zuchini

A Second in Time

Madame has been gone a long time. Or a short time, if you look at it cosmically. The universe exploded and expanded in one millionth of a millionth of a millionth of a second. So one might  posit I have never left. In that millionth of a millionth of a millionth of a second the Earth went from a timeless (and I don’t mean as in “little black dress”) void of emptiness and mind imploding nothingness to the size of a golf ball. Not too impressive sounding.  However, compare that to expanding from a golf ball to the size of the Earth! Ah, now there is a swift expansion far greater than wagon trains on the Oregon Trail.

So that is the gist of the Big Bang Theory, the much disputed Act of the Divine Master. The Earth came into being 200 zillion times more perfectly than the gestation of a human child.  And yet this simple act, or blasphemous lie, depending on where you go on Sunday’s, is the great dichotomy. If the Earth, this great round heap of ocean and continent –  whose landscape has changed from Cretaceous to Bronze Age, from ice age to ice age –  can be called a simple act, a “theory” if you will, then perhaps we are all theories in the making.  Science and Gawd, Gawd and science. Must they, are they, is it possible that they are not mutually exclusive? Not a new idea, or even an old one, I admit. But if one takes the creation of the earth as a simple act; a theory, or  a blasphemous hyperbole of guesswork, then we take away the awesome majestic beauty of a truly Divine, or divine act of a millionth of a millionth of a millionth of a second. Or more to the point, we simplify and generally insult the intelligence of the pre-big bang universe; which is to say – nothing.

We’ve grown so used to time and space existing. So used to time being linear and space being filled with props to sit on and eat on and lie on regardless of how minimalist our tastes, that we pre-suppose that there has always been a universe, even when it was inhabited by giant lizards or pre-columbian pottery. But the sticky insouciance that allows us this false construct, will backhand us one day. For if there is a hell, then Madame believes it is the weight of crystalline clarity squashing us into the same nothingness that preceded the now infamous millionth of a millionth of millionth of  a second. We will feel the true magnitude of our hubris, our small and petulant injustices, perhaps the time we stole the yellow sticky pads from the office supply room, or took the last Pop Tart and lied about it. Everything we are ashamed of or proud of, thought nothing of, will come spread it’s deadly honey over our prone and limpid bodies.  Hell by attrition.

But take heart, young readers, Madame does not believe in a hell. Madame does not have the moral certitude to guide others into hell or heaven.  Madame is confused by this vicious conundrum. The conscription of Gawd by people who would  re-make Gawd  into their own image; to fit their own personal political persuasions.  People who attempt to shrink the Great Designer, the first and greatest Big Banger, into a small and petty man who dispenses favors if enough people shout at him with lemming like incessance.  Madame believes that Gawd is a Great and Expansive Lord and Designer of a Universe so full of awe and magnificence and atoms and electrons and nebulae, and don’t forget quasars and pulsars,  that Gawd transcends time and space, gender and hope and the pride of insignificance.  “He” transcends conspicuous consumption, manifest destiny and possibly diet and exercise.  In the pre-big bang  Universe there is no dislike of  personages different from us, no small and ridiculous flags of power and madness for power, proclaiming one piece of land better than the rest.

If contemplating the universe and its man made constructs is too strenuous for a Friday evening, then close your eyes and float in the bathtub, allowing the water to reach up to your chin, kiss your lips, tease your nose; let it slip you over the waterfall into  the warm and languid divide.  And then think of a pre-big bang universe, regardless of who or what you believe to have caused it, and you will pee in your bath from the treachery of this renegade reminder of the fact that matter is not solid.

Oh for another five minutes. Oh that millionth of a millionth of a millionth of a second. Shine with love, dear readers. Oh and take a cocktail into the bath with you – it helps take the edge off the creepiness of the subject. Madame prefers tequila shots.

Madame out.