The Square Root of 2

Oct 24 2019

An irrational number

has no end.

Digits, to the right of the decimal point

on and on

ad infinitum.

A computer, set to calculate

would be spitting out lines of print

to the ends of the universe,

reams of paper clattering out

until every tree was felled.

Like the paradox

of the arrow to its target,

halving the distance, then halving what's left

so it never quite arrives.

Perpetually in transit,

suspended mid-air

just short of the end

of its clean ballistic arc.

But I believe in rationality.

That problems can be solved.

That a train of thought

can be brought

to its infallible conclusion.

That a society

run by technocrats

would be better than politicians.

Because when emotions contaminate

our Vulcan brains

every bullseye is missed.

Except how to explain

that without that feeling in your gut

you become paralyzed,

hemming and hawing and unsure of yourself

unable to decide.

Just like those numbers

that go on and on,

swamping you

without reaching a conclusion.

Numbers

that define an ever shrinking band

just short

of the next rational number,

an immovable pillar

looming up from the quicksand

of infinite digits

beckoning you on.

But you can only divide the world

so far

until it becomes irreducible.

Down

to the fundamental particle

that, by definition

can no longer be halved.

Which is like trying to find infinity

in a single grain of sand.

Or calculating pi

knowing that you can't.

Or ruminating endlessly

until it drives you mad;

irrational thoughts

spiralling in on themselves,

circling and circling

in your own private hell.