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from Quantum
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INSERT SHOT: A scene from Triumph of the Will
by LENI REIFENSTAHL.
The camera,
installed on the flagpole, climbs up,
nearly three stories tall, to take
in the grandeur of German
seduction with rhetoric of peace
and the tension of swastikas and smiles.
See from the left they march in and cut across
while from the right the other regiment enters;
they make a sort of circle of uncertainty
around our lives. Listen, there’s no
mention of race theory; there’s not
one Jew in sight. Only black
boots, black and red flags and the chiaroscuro
of Nazi soldiers and their shadows,
of the people and the Führer.
Richard P. Feynman
Lecture: Broken Symmetries
Symmetry walks
between two worlds. To the hands it tries to touch us
from either side; to the feet, it simply wants us not to
stumble but to saunter; and, to the heart, it gives as
much as it takes. Protons have neutrons; matter has anti
matter. It’s all a negotiation of will, a charade of
dominance and submission, and we play like adults play
with memories of our youth. We believe that love is
equal to hate but nothing is perfectly symmetric.
Instead, we should question why is the world nearly
symmetric. Why, for example, does the earth orbit
elliptically, as if these old hands had drawn the path,
instead of following an elegant circle?
In the city of Nikko Japan stands the Yomei-mon gate.
Elaborate in design, the gate has princes and lions and
nymphs and other elements carved in--what appears to be,
at least—perfect symmetry. But, if you look closely,
you’ll notice that one of the princes is carved upside
down. And if you ask the people of Nikko why, they will
tell you that it’s carved so the gods won’t get jealous
of the perfection of man. But I put the mirror up to
that statement and say that the laws of nature are
nearly symmetrical because God didn’t want to make man
jealous of her hand.
And in the mirror, the clock ticks a little slower, the
heart beats a little delayed. Watch the hand touch your
face and, for a moment, one hand brushes both cheeks at
once. But then you begin to pick the body apart: one
foot is longer than the other, one breast hangs a little
lower, one eye winks and the other can only blink and,
suddenly, you’re not the woman you thought you were. But
then you look at a tree growing cherries or a flower
sating a bee and you count the branches or the petals
and you realize nothing is as beautiful as you once
believed. And through our eyes, we continue coveting our
reflections: The blade of grass wants to be a rapier;
the clouds want to blow over the lips in circles; the
eclipse wants to bring back the light.
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