He opened his eye, situated himself and then closed them again.
Slow down, think, slow down, be clear.
Why was he here, what is this meat suit? Its constant urges, desires, wants, niggles. A stream of discomfort plaguing the consciousness.
He tried to clear his mind but it was filled with sound, the necessity of breathing, a pang of hunger, and the pull of duty.
How had he ended up here in this particular situation, a brain half awake, a consciousness disembodied, timeless.
He was the age of the universe, no, older, he witnessed the birth of time, the passing of the ages. It was with him now and yet he was here, embodied, as if locked inside a prison, a single pointed consciousness.
Each mind is a bubble universe, self contained and infinite. Close your eyes and feel there is no limit. The body is a feeling, immediacy, attached to thyne self. And this is attached to something deeper and more prevalent. It bathes in being, quenched like a sponge in every pore.
He closed his eyes again. Connected yet profoundly disconnected.
He felt connected to the earth and to the hearts of a billion people. It was disquieting, angers were rising, wars were raging and a distinct form of madness and narcissism was infecting the populous. It is as if an alien had pervaded the universe. Perhaps it was in the RNA delivered by proxy to a frightened populace. Perhaps at the behest of the Large Hadron Collider which was shredding holes at the fabric of reality.
Atom smasher they called it. Perhaps it wasn’t just smashing atoms but space-time itself, because something had radically changed in the cosmos.
There a few who could feel it. A small number but not vanishingly small. If you passed them in a mall or met them at work a little eye contact was all that was necessary. A knowing look, perhaps a strained smile or a nod of the head. You knew that they knew and you also knew they felt just as powerless against this unholy force.
Orwell captured this feeling so well with the character of Winston. That feeling of being a rat in the regime, the helplessness of witnessing madness, the claustrophobia and suffocation as it permeated around you. Inescapability.
It didn’t end well for Winston as we all know but Orwell did get something wrong. For the soul is essentially eternal and humanity always gets eternity wrong. For time is a construct. It’s not a forever as much as it’s a never.
He closed his eyes again.
This fractal was formed by its boundaries. Each layer of magnification effecting the above as much as below. The quantum ruled by the heavens in direct proportion. Those Astrologers were unto something.
The (free) will rules the body as much as your gut bacterial influences it.
Neither man nor machine but something entirely different, infused with the divine.
And That’s,
Thinking and Destiny. H.W. Percival.