- Vol. 02
- Chapter 08
Geometry of Nature
With both his mud-smothered feet floating at the edge of the cliff, Nematzadeh focused his sight towards the abyssal horizon, his frail adolescent figure balancing on a dead birch tree bough, and indulged in an afternoon conversation with his noble white-feathered companion, Toca, a beauty of a black-beaked cockatoo,
“Can you see it, my friend? That immaculate line spreading horizontally across as far as our eyes can see? The one responsible for the clean division of heaven and sea, clouds and waves, wind and water and above all feathers and scales. Beautiful isn’t it? Don’t you think by crediting that perfection to a supreme Creator, we dissolve the value of which it truly is?”
Toca remained motionless for half a minute before flapping his wings meagerly to signal his half-hearted agreement.
“Correct, master. Correct,” Toca mechanically answered.
“Everywhere I turn to, my friend, all I see are lines. They make up everything. Regardless of being classified as linear or quadratic , they shape everything our eyes allow us to see. If there was a creator, don’t you think he is a master geometrist?”
“Correct, master. Correct,” Toca obliged while flapping only his left wing.
Geometry of Nature
“If the Creator is a master geometrist, imagine the ginormous size of his stationeries; his skyscraper rulers, Everest-sized protractors, compasses with legs stretching across Persia and graph papers the size of the sky. He, or She, must be incomprehensibly huge, don’t you think so?”
“A-Ha! Master. Funny,”
“All my life, I can never understand why a Creator would want to create a sarcastic feathered friend for me. Do I deserve this?”
“We deserve the friends we think we deserve.”
“Now you’re sounding like the corny morale of a bed-time fable, Toca. I suggest you practice some silence now my friend.”
Toca, now three feet above Nematzadeh, replied, in perfect human speech, “You should’ve thought about that before asking your feathered friend questions pertaining to theology and existence” before heading towards the setting sun, leaving Nematzadeh baffled beyond comprehension.