Alice

Mother Nature never isn’t tinkering with paradigms.

It isn’t that she sometimes makes mistakes. What

could a mistake be to Existence? Is-ness is its sum

and total business. Nothing’s rated. No, she tinkers

with her paradigms because it makes her glad:

she’s ecstatically absorbed by the experiment.

Might she prod a few mutations that might render homo

sapiens a bit more really interested in what she’s done?

She only wants them to have fun! Well, some have fun.

But most are sucked down under by the weight of her

infinity: it’s overwhelming for our tiny brains to register

we’re infinite. (Which we don’t know we know, but oh!

we know.) What a pleasure it would be to undergo

a countervailing tidal wave of curiosity about the beautiful

velocity of which all sentience is the child. (Every wave

and particle is sentient.) Let the Cosmos be completely

fascinated with itself! That would be its most sustaining

wealth, the prize her progeny don’t realize they want.

Now Mother Nature has succeeded in devising the revised

female you see here in whom she’s invested an inordinate

proclivity for wanting to know everything. Because she

whisked her requisite ingredients into a chalice, she named

her Alice. She risked the sentimental (Mother Nature’s

all but never that) by a fact which she decided gave

her leave. The chalice had been made by Eve.

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