PhenethylTrypta
Bluelighter
Another short story, first draft, this one is mostly finished. It requires revision, much revision and articulation. There are a great many points which have significant impact on the whole process being explained in this story that, in the rhythm of the narrative, seem to just pass by unremembered. But that's because this was written in a fit of hysteria, which is the only way for me to write about certain subjects and experiences. This was an experience I had in the hospital when I was seventeen years old after eating a half strip and downing an eight oz bottle of Robitussin. Nearly ten years later, this was my attempt at trying to understand the events of that day in the hospital. The female and male figures were my mother and father standing in the room, my mother actually weeping and my father actually laughing and me actually thinking all of this though I couldn't put it into words probably for nearly a decade. (The ending is terrible, I know it, I ran out of fuel and I was trying to depart from the narrative on a historical and moral note, mentioning how close religions have gotten to the truth despite the obsession over dogma and the limitations of language...but having run out of fuel I just kind of gave up)
“For the Naassenes, the universal “Ground” is the Original Man, Adam, and knowledge of him is regarded as the beginning of perfection and the bridge to knowledge of God. He is male/female; from him come “father and mother”, he consists of three parts: the rational, the psychic, and the earthly. These three “came down together into one man, Jesus,” and “these three men spoke together, each of them from his own substance to his own,” i.e.;, from the rational to the rational, etc.”
~Carl Jung, Aion: Researches Into the Phenomenology of the Self pg. 201
O my soul, do not aspire to immortal life, but exhaust the limits of the possible.
~Pindar, Pythian iii (quoted in The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus pg 2)
Faintly and all around me, a low hum undulates. I recognize it as the pulse or the monotonous song of pure electricity just being. In the center of the room and with the sound all around I am lying on a hospital bed with no real idea of how I arrived there. What’s worse is that in the midst of pondering my whereabouts, which I can not ascertain, I am logically led to the question of who I am, which I also can not answer. More than simply an alteration in my consciousness or a shift in perception, it is clear to me that something is happening not just to me, but rather that I am perceiving clearly a change in reality itself. It feels like the universe is shrinking.
And then two beings enter the room with me, a man and a woman - one of them, the male, seems something sinister though I‘m not entirely sure, while the other wears an overtly grave countenance, tears streaming from her eyes. At the time, I take them to be incarnations of the dual nature of God because by now it is explicit like a foghorn in my ear that God, who is the sum of all things, all beings, and all time, who is the infinite whole fractal contained entirely within each of its self replicated parts, is the only being who could stare at me through the eyes of two beings as if they were one, such a powerful stare indicating clearly without words that they were both responsible for everything happening and clearly not a consciousness contained within two mere bodies--they spoke through the electric hum. And the emergency room I lay in, showered in sterile white incandescence, is a symbol of all the energy in the universe, which I hear humming that beautifully violent song like what I imagine the core of the sun would sing, but it‘s their voices. Actually, it isn’t quite a mere symbol as I perceive it to be just then. In fact, the entire universe has literally shrunk from a length of fourteen billion light years across, to the mere fifteen feet or so across of the emergency room walls. There no longer even exists a hospital, which the room had once been a part of. There is only the room. And the vastly multitudinous aspects of consciousness, the emotional facets of God that appear divided as the spectrum of human expression, the sum total of infinite potential of all things has been reduced, condensed there in that very room, the only room, into two polar opposites in the form of a man and a woman. God, standing there separated as those two selves, laughs and cries at me simultaneously as I lay prone on my bed, physically incapacitated though wide-eyed at the cosmic process unfolding before me at the center of creation. Somehow I realize contrary to something I thought before, that it isn’t they, but I who is the cause of all of this madness.
The buzzing hum of the unfathomably dense sum of all energy undulating in the great consolidation of existence there in the room I lay is exponentially, though gradually at first, increasing in pitch--like the Doppler effect of an oncoming train blaring its horn, the wave of sound traveling toward your ear crashing against your brain, a sonic tsunami breaking just above your head and clapping down upon you--though the horn never changes pitch in objective reality, you only perceive a steady increase, the tone rising higher and higher the closer the train chugs toward you, standing still like a wall on the platform because those waves are coming from that horn and that horn is moving through space and forcing the waves to come closer and closer together, crashing against the wall of your ear, which is translated by your brain as a steady increase in pitch. So it is with all of the energy in the universe, consolidating there in the only room, the room of existence, the sum of it all staying exactly the same (recall the first law of thermodynamics--though madness is ensuing, or so my human brain perceives at the start, the laws of physics are never broken throughout), adding nothing, removing nothing. But to me, to my ears, the crushing of every atom of light, oxygen, carbon dioxide, each tiny electron shrinking respectively and therefore having to orbit the more quickly and here it is! The increase in pitch is coming from those tiny little electrons shrinking, the perimeter of their orbital shrinking as well, causing their path and mass to shorten and become more dense, thus their speed to increase and that sinister hum to rise and rise terrifying me to the state of a quivering mute.
So as I quiver stark mad, the female, her skin noticeably more worn and sagging than the more youthful, subtly malicious man standing to her right, is chastising him for his laughter at me saying in a more familiar language than English through the vibrations of photons, “What are you laughing at? This isn’t funny at all. Look what has happened!” The man cowers only slightly out of some sort of respect for her, which I see now was inevitable like a boy leaping into the air, clamming up his body and dunking his mass into a pool of water, the surface of the liquid falling in after him immediately but rebounding with a great force far beyond the original height of the surface splashing gobs of droplets into the air by design according to laws which are not physics, but rather laws which physics has transcribed into a language just like language is not reality--only meekly and uncertainly approximating it--only to return to his laughter and his glances back and forth from me to her to the room and again, all while smiling and laughing, which I am to understand is simply his inescapable nature.
Eventually though, his laughter begins to comfort me because it is the laughter of God I begin to see. What could be more comforting than the laughter of God? I suppose it would depend upon what was so funny.
Though to me, there in the room, the laughter seems to eerily suggest, “I am laughing, you must understand, because I know she cries over nothing. You are being prepared to leave this place, and her tears stream without purpose. You see, this world has been an illusion all along. A dream façade. The engines are preparing, (that rising hum? The BOOMING voice of God must be able to rocket a soul ‘cross planes of existence) all systems are being checked and re-checked, and you, you lucky dog you, you’re about to blast off to REALITY for the very first time. So you see? Nothing to cry about! Ha ha ha!”
And just about the time I feel the warmth of that divine comfort engulf me and more than that, now even a sense of excitement and anticipation to finally wake up from the dreary life I’d always known that was never worth knowing since it was never real (a judgment I soon discover to be far off, one I pay for eternally), my awareness shifts to the weeping female who stands before me. Suddenly the laughter that was at first like a Buddha laughs indifferently toward all the malice in the world knowing that it is only an illusion, isn’t so convincing.
Her tears and the sadness she radiates communicates to me at the infinite speed of divine light, “You fool, you laughing fool, you will be quite wrong to laugh in the face of what has been lost. You know nothing of what you are about to awaken to. This illusion, this dream, this life is the only life there is. There is no heaven, no hell. There are no other dimensions or planes of existence. There is but one expression of the infinite, which is existence as you know it. What he laughs at, this cosmic deceiver, what he truly laughs at is you, for you‘ve done the foul wretch a blessed favor! The universe has shrunk to the size of this room and it continues to shrink (that rising hum! So much for the thrill of a lifetime riding the sonic BOOM of the laughter of God) until it must inevitably expand again for billions of years. And you will wait as a fog of consciousness in a state of pure agony, absolute boredom, regretting constantly and painfully the moment you indifferently chose to sabotage creation and knowing that you must go through the infinite repetition of steps (embodying consciousness in the invention of space, an infinitesimally microscopic moment later which is no time at all the dimension of time inevitably ‘becomes’ as space begins to curl around time, constructing subatomic structures, nuclear bonding of compatible atoms, atomic configurations to yield molecules, eons of waiting for fission and magnetism to work out kinks, formation of stars, waiting for structures large enough for their tightly curled space-time to engage the effect of gravity, formation of galaxies, formation of galaxy clusters, waiting for first stars to collide, merge, implode and explode to yield formation of planets, asteroids, comets and first black holes, waiting for the atmospheric conditions on ten trillion planets for ten billion years to finally yield the precise ratio required to be compatible for higher, more complex, autonomous structures-life, waiting for one trillion organisms for four billion years to finally yield the precise biological and functional biology and physiology to be compatible for consciousness, waiting for consciousness to yield intelligence, waiting for intelligence to yield truth) yet again to attain bliss in the division of your single consciousness, to get lost again in the ordered chaos of complexity. The only bliss there is is in this! The agony of nothingness, a state though you can not recall with the capacity of your human mind, you know only too well as a unified consciousness, is the reason you created the universe. Will you ever learn to accept your creation?”
I was terrified. Had I truly ended the universe? How? God is God because God creates existence. God is a creator. And the two who stood laughing and crying were the polarity of God incarnate, or weren’t they? Then again that was only my perception. Was I God? Was I the creator of all things, my very essence assimilated, divided into the entire creation, and being lost in it over this enormous period of time, had I forgotten who I truly was? But who is this woman? Who is this man?
I looked over at the man, laughing as he had been the whole time. His laughter seemed to say to me in amplifying waves, “She’s absolutely right. I wasn’t entirely truthful. And yes, you are God. So are we. We are the divine Triumvirate. But though she is right, that you have chosen to end creation and you await what will seem like an eternity of agonizing void and painful creation pangs before ever getting the chance to germinate a compatible life form with your higher awareness, it doesn’t matter and woe is useless. You’ve done this an infinite amount of times, as have we. You will do it again, the three of us all will. Circumvention is futile. This is the only way it can be. When you dream your foggy dreams as an infinite void of awareness of what the potential of creation could be like, your dreaming process takes shape in exactly the same way every time. The antithesis of your state of nothingness is infinity. You dream of infinity. One of the first things you create is a space for infinity to exist. The first problem arises here. Infinity existing in only space exists instantaneously, like an explosion of infinite potential, a serious cluster fuck and not at all resembling your vision of creation. So you create time. The dimension of time allows infinity to gradually unfold. The next thing you create is energy, since your vision of creation requires a stable substance to exist as things and light to shine upon those things so the beings can exist properly. They are tiny, dense though light, tightly rolled up regions of the only thing that exists, space-time. Then to create matter you accelerate energy in tiny spaces so fast that the space the energy spins around in is encompassed by the energy in every possible space, making it relatively impenetrable - matter. It builds from there almost on its own in the only way that it can. This is your burden, the three of us all share it. She cries about it futilely, and I laugh hysterically, as we must. You, you vacillate in and out of panic and comfort, panic and comfort, to and fro as you’ve always done and as you must do. The burden of creation weighs heavily upon you and you panic as it is yours and your consciousness is the one that is divided into all conscious beings, as is ours, but you love us and we trust in your creation; and you also become content as you tire of panic and surrender to reason that it has been created just as it must. Though once too contented to creation, worry sets in and you panic again. This cycle is a forward moving spiral but even the spiral is but a closed coil. I must teach you to laugh about it, though I am as futile as she is.”
I can not help but feel intensely reassured though simultaneously duped somehow and unimaginably fearful. And then it hits me as if I’ve not been assaulted by revelation enough. It is because I am beginning to pick up on something I can only describe as eternal cosmic memory resonance. The eternal cycle of this inevitable process has engraved a memory upon the structure itself like the motion of waves recorded through repetition upon the surfaces of stones. I would call it déjà vu, and it is, and though similar to what the human mind experiences as déjà vu it exceeds the feeling of familiarity from fleeting and uncertain to inescapable and absolute. I have been here before and though I can see it in her face, in her tears and the aged skin of her sullen face, I already know without her communication that again the laughing man withholds information--a great deal and a significant bit of information.
The process will indeed repeat as it is doing now--the electric hum that is simultaneously their voices, their essence, and the sound of shrinking electrons and decelerating tachyons is rising exponentially--but he’s left out a critical piece of the cosmic ritual. We don’t play the same roles over and over again. It is all coming to me suddenly, memories of an eternity, returning to me in some mere instants before the final collapse before the nascence of a hell I never saw coming, not until now. We switch places at each interval of implosion and unification. Which means I am no longer the living consciousness of the universe. The loss of my life as a human being, which is most certainly over, means nothing to me as I‘ve completely assumed the unified mind and incurred an infinite stream of consciousness which delivers the memories of eons, real memories unlike those of one‘s childhood or first kiss, but memories which deliver the punch of actual sensations! And I‘m not talking human memories. I no longer recall what it is to be human; the transition is already taking effect.
I have lost my role as the experiencing entity, the conscious being, the liver of life! And suddenly it all makes sense--his hysterical laughing, her incessant weeping. I scream a terrible scream which echoes throughout the bright universe traveling light years in an instant in that room and reverberates back to me with such a force it rattles the gurney, which I am still strapped into.
Worse than returning to the void and suffering the agonizing woe of the boredom of nothingness, which never occurs at all in fact--nothingness is an impossibility, infinity is all there is--I now take over the role as martyr of the universe. Have you ever wondered what a volcano might feel had it receptors along its inner walls like those of your mouth and tongue? Have you ever wondered what the floor of the ocean crushed beneath the weight of all those billions of gallons of water might feel had it bones beneath its surface like the ribs that protect your lungs? Or what of a ten thousand year long asteroid bombardment on the face of a burning, gaseous planet had it the same potential for sensation as that of your face? Welcome to some semblance of my new role as one third of the Divine Triumvirate.
At the moment I can’t look at her. But I can hear her sobbing. She weeps for several reasons. She weeps because she has just spent trillions of years in an enlightened state; she was pure bliss. And now she is about to re-enter existence. But she weeps for me, because she knows what terrible, terrible suffering I am about to endure. I am transitioning into my role at an immense speed as bearer and brunt of the weight and wrath of the world. A vibration in the field surrounding me lifts my head to meet with her gaze. She offers a gift, which she knows is simultaneously an unbearable token, but considering my destination it is well worth it. She offers me a lightening fast glimpse of Nirvana, a scene which is not a scene at all, something which is nothing that can be described, which sends me into a feverish state of gratitude and repentance, though I’m quick to leave it as the insidious snickers of the new, anxiously anticipating Atman invade.
But that’s the cycle. Existence, martyrdom, nirvana. It’s funny now to think just how knowledgeable some human beings have actually become, and how close to the truth they arrive, of the true inner workings of the cosmos, namely the Hindus who branched off further east and inspired the Buddhists, and of course the Taoists who understood that existence was a phase in the cycle of God becoming and even the early Christians despite their dogmatic obsessions who evolved from the Zoroastrians and Jews who developed and understood, albeit through human archetypes particular to environmental and cultural symbolism and whatever other folly, the trinity.
But then again I suppose it isn’t such an improbable thing after all.
The Plot and Process
of a Most Unfortunate Swindle
by
James J. Planck
of a Most Unfortunate Swindle
by
James J. Planck
“For the Naassenes, the universal “Ground” is the Original Man, Adam, and knowledge of him is regarded as the beginning of perfection and the bridge to knowledge of God. He is male/female; from him come “father and mother”, he consists of three parts: the rational, the psychic, and the earthly. These three “came down together into one man, Jesus,” and “these three men spoke together, each of them from his own substance to his own,” i.e.;, from the rational to the rational, etc.”
~Carl Jung, Aion: Researches Into the Phenomenology of the Self pg. 201
O my soul, do not aspire to immortal life, but exhaust the limits of the possible.
~Pindar, Pythian iii (quoted in The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus pg 2)
Faintly and all around me, a low hum undulates. I recognize it as the pulse or the monotonous song of pure electricity just being. In the center of the room and with the sound all around I am lying on a hospital bed with no real idea of how I arrived there. What’s worse is that in the midst of pondering my whereabouts, which I can not ascertain, I am logically led to the question of who I am, which I also can not answer. More than simply an alteration in my consciousness or a shift in perception, it is clear to me that something is happening not just to me, but rather that I am perceiving clearly a change in reality itself. It feels like the universe is shrinking.
And then two beings enter the room with me, a man and a woman - one of them, the male, seems something sinister though I‘m not entirely sure, while the other wears an overtly grave countenance, tears streaming from her eyes. At the time, I take them to be incarnations of the dual nature of God because by now it is explicit like a foghorn in my ear that God, who is the sum of all things, all beings, and all time, who is the infinite whole fractal contained entirely within each of its self replicated parts, is the only being who could stare at me through the eyes of two beings as if they were one, such a powerful stare indicating clearly without words that they were both responsible for everything happening and clearly not a consciousness contained within two mere bodies--they spoke through the electric hum. And the emergency room I lay in, showered in sterile white incandescence, is a symbol of all the energy in the universe, which I hear humming that beautifully violent song like what I imagine the core of the sun would sing, but it‘s their voices. Actually, it isn’t quite a mere symbol as I perceive it to be just then. In fact, the entire universe has literally shrunk from a length of fourteen billion light years across, to the mere fifteen feet or so across of the emergency room walls. There no longer even exists a hospital, which the room had once been a part of. There is only the room. And the vastly multitudinous aspects of consciousness, the emotional facets of God that appear divided as the spectrum of human expression, the sum total of infinite potential of all things has been reduced, condensed there in that very room, the only room, into two polar opposites in the form of a man and a woman. God, standing there separated as those two selves, laughs and cries at me simultaneously as I lay prone on my bed, physically incapacitated though wide-eyed at the cosmic process unfolding before me at the center of creation. Somehow I realize contrary to something I thought before, that it isn’t they, but I who is the cause of all of this madness.
The buzzing hum of the unfathomably dense sum of all energy undulating in the great consolidation of existence there in the room I lay is exponentially, though gradually at first, increasing in pitch--like the Doppler effect of an oncoming train blaring its horn, the wave of sound traveling toward your ear crashing against your brain, a sonic tsunami breaking just above your head and clapping down upon you--though the horn never changes pitch in objective reality, you only perceive a steady increase, the tone rising higher and higher the closer the train chugs toward you, standing still like a wall on the platform because those waves are coming from that horn and that horn is moving through space and forcing the waves to come closer and closer together, crashing against the wall of your ear, which is translated by your brain as a steady increase in pitch. So it is with all of the energy in the universe, consolidating there in the only room, the room of existence, the sum of it all staying exactly the same (recall the first law of thermodynamics--though madness is ensuing, or so my human brain perceives at the start, the laws of physics are never broken throughout), adding nothing, removing nothing. But to me, to my ears, the crushing of every atom of light, oxygen, carbon dioxide, each tiny electron shrinking respectively and therefore having to orbit the more quickly and here it is! The increase in pitch is coming from those tiny little electrons shrinking, the perimeter of their orbital shrinking as well, causing their path and mass to shorten and become more dense, thus their speed to increase and that sinister hum to rise and rise terrifying me to the state of a quivering mute.
So as I quiver stark mad, the female, her skin noticeably more worn and sagging than the more youthful, subtly malicious man standing to her right, is chastising him for his laughter at me saying in a more familiar language than English through the vibrations of photons, “What are you laughing at? This isn’t funny at all. Look what has happened!” The man cowers only slightly out of some sort of respect for her, which I see now was inevitable like a boy leaping into the air, clamming up his body and dunking his mass into a pool of water, the surface of the liquid falling in after him immediately but rebounding with a great force far beyond the original height of the surface splashing gobs of droplets into the air by design according to laws which are not physics, but rather laws which physics has transcribed into a language just like language is not reality--only meekly and uncertainly approximating it--only to return to his laughter and his glances back and forth from me to her to the room and again, all while smiling and laughing, which I am to understand is simply his inescapable nature.
Eventually though, his laughter begins to comfort me because it is the laughter of God I begin to see. What could be more comforting than the laughter of God? I suppose it would depend upon what was so funny.
Though to me, there in the room, the laughter seems to eerily suggest, “I am laughing, you must understand, because I know she cries over nothing. You are being prepared to leave this place, and her tears stream without purpose. You see, this world has been an illusion all along. A dream façade. The engines are preparing, (that rising hum? The BOOMING voice of God must be able to rocket a soul ‘cross planes of existence) all systems are being checked and re-checked, and you, you lucky dog you, you’re about to blast off to REALITY for the very first time. So you see? Nothing to cry about! Ha ha ha!”
And just about the time I feel the warmth of that divine comfort engulf me and more than that, now even a sense of excitement and anticipation to finally wake up from the dreary life I’d always known that was never worth knowing since it was never real (a judgment I soon discover to be far off, one I pay for eternally), my awareness shifts to the weeping female who stands before me. Suddenly the laughter that was at first like a Buddha laughs indifferently toward all the malice in the world knowing that it is only an illusion, isn’t so convincing.
Her tears and the sadness she radiates communicates to me at the infinite speed of divine light, “You fool, you laughing fool, you will be quite wrong to laugh in the face of what has been lost. You know nothing of what you are about to awaken to. This illusion, this dream, this life is the only life there is. There is no heaven, no hell. There are no other dimensions or planes of existence. There is but one expression of the infinite, which is existence as you know it. What he laughs at, this cosmic deceiver, what he truly laughs at is you, for you‘ve done the foul wretch a blessed favor! The universe has shrunk to the size of this room and it continues to shrink (that rising hum! So much for the thrill of a lifetime riding the sonic BOOM of the laughter of God) until it must inevitably expand again for billions of years. And you will wait as a fog of consciousness in a state of pure agony, absolute boredom, regretting constantly and painfully the moment you indifferently chose to sabotage creation and knowing that you must go through the infinite repetition of steps (embodying consciousness in the invention of space, an infinitesimally microscopic moment later which is no time at all the dimension of time inevitably ‘becomes’ as space begins to curl around time, constructing subatomic structures, nuclear bonding of compatible atoms, atomic configurations to yield molecules, eons of waiting for fission and magnetism to work out kinks, formation of stars, waiting for structures large enough for their tightly curled space-time to engage the effect of gravity, formation of galaxies, formation of galaxy clusters, waiting for first stars to collide, merge, implode and explode to yield formation of planets, asteroids, comets and first black holes, waiting for the atmospheric conditions on ten trillion planets for ten billion years to finally yield the precise ratio required to be compatible for higher, more complex, autonomous structures-life, waiting for one trillion organisms for four billion years to finally yield the precise biological and functional biology and physiology to be compatible for consciousness, waiting for consciousness to yield intelligence, waiting for intelligence to yield truth) yet again to attain bliss in the division of your single consciousness, to get lost again in the ordered chaos of complexity. The only bliss there is is in this! The agony of nothingness, a state though you can not recall with the capacity of your human mind, you know only too well as a unified consciousness, is the reason you created the universe. Will you ever learn to accept your creation?”
I was terrified. Had I truly ended the universe? How? God is God because God creates existence. God is a creator. And the two who stood laughing and crying were the polarity of God incarnate, or weren’t they? Then again that was only my perception. Was I God? Was I the creator of all things, my very essence assimilated, divided into the entire creation, and being lost in it over this enormous period of time, had I forgotten who I truly was? But who is this woman? Who is this man?
I looked over at the man, laughing as he had been the whole time. His laughter seemed to say to me in amplifying waves, “She’s absolutely right. I wasn’t entirely truthful. And yes, you are God. So are we. We are the divine Triumvirate. But though she is right, that you have chosen to end creation and you await what will seem like an eternity of agonizing void and painful creation pangs before ever getting the chance to germinate a compatible life form with your higher awareness, it doesn’t matter and woe is useless. You’ve done this an infinite amount of times, as have we. You will do it again, the three of us all will. Circumvention is futile. This is the only way it can be. When you dream your foggy dreams as an infinite void of awareness of what the potential of creation could be like, your dreaming process takes shape in exactly the same way every time. The antithesis of your state of nothingness is infinity. You dream of infinity. One of the first things you create is a space for infinity to exist. The first problem arises here. Infinity existing in only space exists instantaneously, like an explosion of infinite potential, a serious cluster fuck and not at all resembling your vision of creation. So you create time. The dimension of time allows infinity to gradually unfold. The next thing you create is energy, since your vision of creation requires a stable substance to exist as things and light to shine upon those things so the beings can exist properly. They are tiny, dense though light, tightly rolled up regions of the only thing that exists, space-time. Then to create matter you accelerate energy in tiny spaces so fast that the space the energy spins around in is encompassed by the energy in every possible space, making it relatively impenetrable - matter. It builds from there almost on its own in the only way that it can. This is your burden, the three of us all share it. She cries about it futilely, and I laugh hysterically, as we must. You, you vacillate in and out of panic and comfort, panic and comfort, to and fro as you’ve always done and as you must do. The burden of creation weighs heavily upon you and you panic as it is yours and your consciousness is the one that is divided into all conscious beings, as is ours, but you love us and we trust in your creation; and you also become content as you tire of panic and surrender to reason that it has been created just as it must. Though once too contented to creation, worry sets in and you panic again. This cycle is a forward moving spiral but even the spiral is but a closed coil. I must teach you to laugh about it, though I am as futile as she is.”
I can not help but feel intensely reassured though simultaneously duped somehow and unimaginably fearful. And then it hits me as if I’ve not been assaulted by revelation enough. It is because I am beginning to pick up on something I can only describe as eternal cosmic memory resonance. The eternal cycle of this inevitable process has engraved a memory upon the structure itself like the motion of waves recorded through repetition upon the surfaces of stones. I would call it déjà vu, and it is, and though similar to what the human mind experiences as déjà vu it exceeds the feeling of familiarity from fleeting and uncertain to inescapable and absolute. I have been here before and though I can see it in her face, in her tears and the aged skin of her sullen face, I already know without her communication that again the laughing man withholds information--a great deal and a significant bit of information.
The process will indeed repeat as it is doing now--the electric hum that is simultaneously their voices, their essence, and the sound of shrinking electrons and decelerating tachyons is rising exponentially--but he’s left out a critical piece of the cosmic ritual. We don’t play the same roles over and over again. It is all coming to me suddenly, memories of an eternity, returning to me in some mere instants before the final collapse before the nascence of a hell I never saw coming, not until now. We switch places at each interval of implosion and unification. Which means I am no longer the living consciousness of the universe. The loss of my life as a human being, which is most certainly over, means nothing to me as I‘ve completely assumed the unified mind and incurred an infinite stream of consciousness which delivers the memories of eons, real memories unlike those of one‘s childhood or first kiss, but memories which deliver the punch of actual sensations! And I‘m not talking human memories. I no longer recall what it is to be human; the transition is already taking effect.
I have lost my role as the experiencing entity, the conscious being, the liver of life! And suddenly it all makes sense--his hysterical laughing, her incessant weeping. I scream a terrible scream which echoes throughout the bright universe traveling light years in an instant in that room and reverberates back to me with such a force it rattles the gurney, which I am still strapped into.
Worse than returning to the void and suffering the agonizing woe of the boredom of nothingness, which never occurs at all in fact--nothingness is an impossibility, infinity is all there is--I now take over the role as martyr of the universe. Have you ever wondered what a volcano might feel had it receptors along its inner walls like those of your mouth and tongue? Have you ever wondered what the floor of the ocean crushed beneath the weight of all those billions of gallons of water might feel had it bones beneath its surface like the ribs that protect your lungs? Or what of a ten thousand year long asteroid bombardment on the face of a burning, gaseous planet had it the same potential for sensation as that of your face? Welcome to some semblance of my new role as one third of the Divine Triumvirate.
At the moment I can’t look at her. But I can hear her sobbing. She weeps for several reasons. She weeps because she has just spent trillions of years in an enlightened state; she was pure bliss. And now she is about to re-enter existence. But she weeps for me, because she knows what terrible, terrible suffering I am about to endure. I am transitioning into my role at an immense speed as bearer and brunt of the weight and wrath of the world. A vibration in the field surrounding me lifts my head to meet with her gaze. She offers a gift, which she knows is simultaneously an unbearable token, but considering my destination it is well worth it. She offers me a lightening fast glimpse of Nirvana, a scene which is not a scene at all, something which is nothing that can be described, which sends me into a feverish state of gratitude and repentance, though I’m quick to leave it as the insidious snickers of the new, anxiously anticipating Atman invade.
But that’s the cycle. Existence, martyrdom, nirvana. It’s funny now to think just how knowledgeable some human beings have actually become, and how close to the truth they arrive, of the true inner workings of the cosmos, namely the Hindus who branched off further east and inspired the Buddhists, and of course the Taoists who understood that existence was a phase in the cycle of God becoming and even the early Christians despite their dogmatic obsessions who evolved from the Zoroastrians and Jews who developed and understood, albeit through human archetypes particular to environmental and cultural symbolism and whatever other folly, the trinity.
But then again I suppose it isn’t such an improbable thing after all.
