There seems no explanation for the scenario of ransom in the dark corridor of the dreams of the very early morning. It there is a sun bringing clarity to this world it’s spectrum is not detectable by man. I could imagine a spelunking expedition through the convolutions of darker long untraveled synapses resting deep within the recesses of the brain. Maybe the human brain is a liability and we are a demonic species evolved to defy and dissemble everything around us that is chaotically beautiful and usefully. Haters of true nature that take on tasks that disrupt the balance that some vast universal unseen force has put perpetually in motion all for the sake of hubris and selfishness? A species whose long term survival depends upon changing all that is encountered into a flawed paradigm of what our simple spinal antennas sense is majestic and out of reach? The individual ‘WE’ have lost the possibility of paradise because we refuse to accept our own passing’s desiring eternal material existence over transitions that our phylum can not control otherwise. So the mistakes of Nimrod always spoiling for a battle with the heavens.
The mechanism of the embodiment of consciousness inevitably decays partly out of entropy, partly from being overwhelmed by a rival miniature world of creatures less intellectual but equally voracious. True Hell would be within the constant battle in the fractious dimensions found on microscopic slides is a battle for turf. Perhaps the FPS realms that enchant the young are naught but a sympathetic recollection of passage through this place. If the higher organisms are notable for cellular harmony then why is their evolution simply a return to the darkness of the paths long ago abandoned in favor of a more sympathetic light? Do we unconsciously dream nightly for the restful notion of our own demise? The vastness of light in the universe might possibly be a myopic illusion? Perhaps some larger sense of entity defies the notion of speed in a manner that dissolves the notion of distance and the evolution of the material? It is so easy to reach out to the artifacts of collective effort and feel grounded in a false foundation of collective enterprise that seem solid and unchanging save for a collective restlessness to build. “more” and “better”. The social evocative a small room increasingly cluttered with the proclivity of last years innovation blocking the introduction of the physical equivalent of this years sense of ‘new’ and ‘improved’. The fissure of internal travel substituted for the dark empty endlessness between immense pimples of immense density of stuff so compacted that it collapses into itself dragging everything else in its vicinity along. All naught but a flawed repetitive pattern of uncountable present tense logics that come and go without the logic of continuity to support them through a dark and seemingly endless nightly dream within a hall of mirrors.
The earth is an egg, or so we are told by that arcane priesthood of science from the portable temples of bound and stacked imprinted paper through to the flickering patter of organized pixels that currently hypnotize us into believing in a collective omniscience. Could such ideas exist without a collective of perfectly ordered theoreticians brought into compliance by the discipline of a common system of guiding thought. We are free, we are constantly told. Free to conform to the laziness of popular culture where the public is led about by the nose ring of instantly manufactured public opinion. Something that is equally of collective manufacture by technicians following an equally strict set of rules. Our impressions as individual entities count as naught unless they are properly filtered by conventions assuring proper interpretation as stated in Wiki or Breitbart, HuffPost or JPL. After all to step outside of the ruling consensus would deem as part of the animal world of the non-rational and dysfunctional. No, how much safer to rest upon the default of the cinematic myth of the anti-hero that we constantly cultivate remaining as separate little islands in a school of fish going upstream. Each one within the myriad of their fellows harnessed in sync to provide the most logical expected outcome from minute to minute, day to day, week to week, ad infinitum.
How different life might be if at night we could freely look skyward and erase the smog of our collective existence and see those uncountable souls hurtling through the heavens above towards unimaginable destinations? The chaos of the universal truth answering every conceivable question by virtue of incontestable presence alone. And yet, here in the course of the inevitable process of growth and decay that is called ‘life’, no one seems to have a clue of what to ask? The context of this perspective so natural to creatures in the wild but so utterly foreign and remote to those lotus eating I-phone fanciers, their attentions addictively transfixed by the witching of a mass produced mental form of enslavement. Why therefore should any venture further than the comfort of their own gasoline powered cart or WiFi wired castle to experience what is already available upon a panoply of articulated electronic devices that always provide the best view along with a mutually satisfactory explanation? So the appreciation of all things rightfully human stays within the center current and the great herd continues to pride itself upon the illusion of global mastery and perpetually perfect wisdom delivered periodically through the day like a Quizno’s or Subway sandwich.
The destiny of humanity seems no different than any other phylum or highly organized species. Our manifest destiny rolls back and forth like the pseudopodia of an amoeba. And the outcome of our collective efforts only ensure that we are still here within the present without hope of sufficiently cogent memories to propel us further into a definite sense of future. Since our eyes cannot see the heavens, we have no way of navigating any further than this place underfoot called “now”. How sad to be caught in a cage of one’s own design? To be stripped of the possibility of harboring boundless imagination by the crushing weight of daily necessity to carry on with the trivialities of competitive existence for the sake of temporal monuments and symbols of material existence that are reliably outdated many times within the transit of the lunar and solar cycles of the common terrain upon which we all rest that speeds forward faster than anything that we can build.
Can you imagine the future, your own future, as you plod through the mental list of tasks that you have assigned yourself? The mental balance sheet that engages disappointment by continuously recomposing the look of you mental expectations. You see something that you want to acquire and immediately, the scenario springs to life behind your eyes of how you are going to employ it as far as the best case solution of positive usefulness is concerned. Though you may not have ever come across the implement before in your life, the mental movie projector within picks up on the the immediate sense of detail that is enhanced by what you might have experienced before from familiarity with a similar object. That silent invisible producer, yourself, then adapts this streaming sequence as someone or something illuminates your otherwise darkened cave with further insights. Minutes later, when you are far away from the experience in the next thought or the next town, you review this mental composition with little skepticism as if it was all a singular experience.
Do you ever wonder if in reality, you are projecting your own reality? As opposed to working as an existential vacuum cleaner picking up sights and sounds and other sensory tidbits from a iron solid sense of mutually shared reality? This is not a new perspective of course, because there have been many books and articles by different authors who have proposed a holographic thesis suggesting that your brain is some sort of conduit like a digital projector. But where is the computer device that is providing the media for this experience? Could it be that some odd form of mental consensus of the larger entity of man make up the firmament of waking reality? If so, perhaps the earth really was flat at one time in ancient history because that is what everyone took as fact? If that is so, maybe ‘we’ should consider very carefully what to believe in?
Because ANYTHING may indeed be possible.