![]() “It’s not politeness,” her father told them. When she was two years old, she would lift her hands over her head and say very sweetly, “Dada, up.” His friends expressed surprise. On her face was an odd expression for a newborn-puzzlement perhaps. She looked at the bright lights, the white- and green-clad figures, the woman lying on the table below her. Her tiny brow was wrinkled, and then her eyes grew wide. ![]() WHEN THEY pulled her out, she was not crying at all. The polyhedral world had been performing its enigmatic function for eons. ![]() Every constellation was being attended to. ![]() Every bowl was aimed at a particular part of the sky. Gliding in polar orbit about the great blue-white star, it resembled some immense, imperfect polyhedron, encrusted with millions of bowl-shaped barnacles. But it was so oddly and intricately shaped, so clearly intended for some complex purpose that it could only have been the expression of an idea. WILLIAM BLAKE Songs of Experience “The Fly,” Stanzas 1-3 (1795)īy human standards it could not possibly have been artificial: It was the size of a world. ![]()
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