LINK to PART 1
PART II
I was trembling now, from skin to the bone below. Oscillating twixt two extremes, with two incompatible ideas whetting my ware :
All across my skin the shivers of deep comfort,
And just under the thin, the slivers of discomfit ;
I am as I never was, and I never was as I never have been
While my bones tremor and slip the hell of bliss and forget my skin.
The shivers are electric - pleasant and unbearable, tingling to shock. I think of fear and submission and rapture and control and am unable to align the opposites : they are all equal.
I am emboldened and humbled :
Brought to my knees, I am invincible.
The ROOT (see part 1) is strong, eternal, and I feel its power inching through my body. I am stumbling amidst the building blocks of consciousness. It’s so strange. So Alien. So other than OTHER.
I thought of consciousness as indivisible from reality. The sum of all, and all sums. A big mandelbrot-like bubble, fractal versions of itself erupting from its body – nodes, groupings along its surface – we are all nodes, insofar as our consciousness is concerned. Nodes upon nodes upon nodes seated on the mandebubble itself. Mathematics is a language. And as such an incomplete picture of reality.
Data builds on data and shifts and bends in unto itself and forms a little node, a cluster called JBArk who is finally aware that he is a node : a nexus of information, a part that contains the whole, a hologram manifest in flesh, flesh that houses the node, a little knot in the woody surface of the REAL...
That’s a lot of metaphors, I know !! That’s the problem with language (and equally with mathematics and deductive logic) – we can only point vaguely towards, gesture awkwardly with inadequate symbols, find incongruous comparisons to explain these realizations. I have stated this elsewhere, but I feel our alphabet is missing at least twelve letters, our tongues several gutteral and linguistic sounds, mathematics a myriad of symbols and our minds, well – if only we could quantify all our minds are missing to fully understand the import of the scraps that fall from the table above… !
The skeptic in me must remind himself that these are all only fleeting, albeit profound, impressions. TRUTH ? Felt like it at the time… felt like the ONLY truth.
At this point, out of nowhere, nausea rose like froth at the confluence of two filthy streams. I was over 2 hours in, closing on 3, and was feeling an illness rise through my ribs, and simultaneously through my skull – my brain felt nausea ! But not poisoned ; just illness manifest… A mental purge. It lasted a few minutes which may have been hours, then subsided. In its awful wake surged a new fear. I was afraid.
My flesh feared.
I looked at a photo of my baby son, so small and new, yet conscious. I fought the fear with Love, and wielded Humour and laughed. It took tremendous concentration not to be consumed by the tide of fear the nausea had become. My son, in the photo, was radiating electric tendrils of white and aquamarine and crimson and the blackest of blacks and emerald and multitudes of colours unseen. All radiating from the image, the photochemical symbol of his small head. I would come back often to this photo during the remainder of the trip for reassurance and grounding.
The trip was unfolding, invading, overwhelming. Synapses firing faster than the processor processes. Senses galloping to keep up.
Then the REAL-EYES-A-SHONE :
THIS IS A GAME. WE ARE, I AM, YOU ARE - IN A GAME.
And I made the game. And I signed a contract. With myself. And all of you signed a contract - but when you were me and I was you and no divider existed. The contract was to never know until the game ends. And here I am, on 4 hits of acid, one of many keys I planted, we planted, as a test - breaking my own contract !!
What does a perfect being most desire ? God made a game to set himself limits so he could know imperfection. In all its imperfect forms. And resigned to live it out to its inevitable, flawed conclusion…
A sudden and annihilating sadness inhabits my soul. I sob inwardly.
I AM NO MORE THAN A GAME. I AM THE GAME AND THE PLAYER, NOTHING ELSE. A STORY. WHOSE END IS DETERMINED BY ME, AND WILLFULLY FORGOTTEN, BY ME.
But a story nonetheless.
Then I began to understand one potential consequence of breaking the contract : misery, illness, mental torment - schizophrenia… ? The game was designed with keys, keys that open portals to understanding the connections between certain fragments revealed. But the game wasn’t designed to accommodate the use of these keys. It seemed to me, in this most altered of states, that the keys are free will. The only free will in a predetermined story. A « joker » built into the game, a tempting way of cheating, of breaking the rules, of learning the mere shadow of the true face of reality, the consequence of which was the inevitable destruction of the feeble mind that plays the game, ignorant of the rules and of the game itself. So that the game ends the way it is designed to end.
So, these keys circumscribe the illusion of free will. Wow – so circular I’m dizzy…
If ignorance is bliss, is its corollary true? Is wisdom misery ?
No :
La sagesse n’est pas la misere, mais la misericorde.
A VERY rough translation :
Wisdom is not misery, but mercy.
All I know for certain is that reality is far, far stranger than the strangest thing imagined by the strangest individual to have ever lived this strange existence.
My humblest thanks for reading.
Stay tuned for PART III. It gets even stranger… !
JBArk
Link to PART 3
The culprit, the elucidator, the fiend, the KEY:
PART II
I was trembling now, from skin to the bone below. Oscillating twixt two extremes, with two incompatible ideas whetting my ware :
All across my skin the shivers of deep comfort,
And just under the thin, the slivers of discomfit ;
I am as I never was, and I never was as I never have been
While my bones tremor and slip the hell of bliss and forget my skin.
The shivers are electric - pleasant and unbearable, tingling to shock. I think of fear and submission and rapture and control and am unable to align the opposites : they are all equal.
I am emboldened and humbled :
Brought to my knees, I am invincible.
The ROOT (see part 1) is strong, eternal, and I feel its power inching through my body. I am stumbling amidst the building blocks of consciousness. It’s so strange. So Alien. So other than OTHER.
I thought of consciousness as indivisible from reality. The sum of all, and all sums. A big mandelbrot-like bubble, fractal versions of itself erupting from its body – nodes, groupings along its surface – we are all nodes, insofar as our consciousness is concerned. Nodes upon nodes upon nodes seated on the mandebubble itself. Mathematics is a language. And as such an incomplete picture of reality.
Data builds on data and shifts and bends in unto itself and forms a little node, a cluster called JBArk who is finally aware that he is a node : a nexus of information, a part that contains the whole, a hologram manifest in flesh, flesh that houses the node, a little knot in the woody surface of the REAL...
That’s a lot of metaphors, I know !! That’s the problem with language (and equally with mathematics and deductive logic) – we can only point vaguely towards, gesture awkwardly with inadequate symbols, find incongruous comparisons to explain these realizations. I have stated this elsewhere, but I feel our alphabet is missing at least twelve letters, our tongues several gutteral and linguistic sounds, mathematics a myriad of symbols and our minds, well – if only we could quantify all our minds are missing to fully understand the import of the scraps that fall from the table above… !
The skeptic in me must remind himself that these are all only fleeting, albeit profound, impressions. TRUTH ? Felt like it at the time… felt like the ONLY truth.
At this point, out of nowhere, nausea rose like froth at the confluence of two filthy streams. I was over 2 hours in, closing on 3, and was feeling an illness rise through my ribs, and simultaneously through my skull – my brain felt nausea ! But not poisoned ; just illness manifest… A mental purge. It lasted a few minutes which may have been hours, then subsided. In its awful wake surged a new fear. I was afraid.
My flesh feared.
I looked at a photo of my baby son, so small and new, yet conscious. I fought the fear with Love, and wielded Humour and laughed. It took tremendous concentration not to be consumed by the tide of fear the nausea had become. My son, in the photo, was radiating electric tendrils of white and aquamarine and crimson and the blackest of blacks and emerald and multitudes of colours unseen. All radiating from the image, the photochemical symbol of his small head. I would come back often to this photo during the remainder of the trip for reassurance and grounding.
The trip was unfolding, invading, overwhelming. Synapses firing faster than the processor processes. Senses galloping to keep up.
Then the REAL-EYES-A-SHONE :
THIS IS A GAME. WE ARE, I AM, YOU ARE - IN A GAME.
And I made the game. And I signed a contract. With myself. And all of you signed a contract - but when you were me and I was you and no divider existed. The contract was to never know until the game ends. And here I am, on 4 hits of acid, one of many keys I planted, we planted, as a test - breaking my own contract !!
What does a perfect being most desire ? God made a game to set himself limits so he could know imperfection. In all its imperfect forms. And resigned to live it out to its inevitable, flawed conclusion…
A sudden and annihilating sadness inhabits my soul. I sob inwardly.
I AM NO MORE THAN A GAME. I AM THE GAME AND THE PLAYER, NOTHING ELSE. A STORY. WHOSE END IS DETERMINED BY ME, AND WILLFULLY FORGOTTEN, BY ME.
But a story nonetheless.
Then I began to understand one potential consequence of breaking the contract : misery, illness, mental torment - schizophrenia… ? The game was designed with keys, keys that open portals to understanding the connections between certain fragments revealed. But the game wasn’t designed to accommodate the use of these keys. It seemed to me, in this most altered of states, that the keys are free will. The only free will in a predetermined story. A « joker » built into the game, a tempting way of cheating, of breaking the rules, of learning the mere shadow of the true face of reality, the consequence of which was the inevitable destruction of the feeble mind that plays the game, ignorant of the rules and of the game itself. So that the game ends the way it is designed to end.
So, these keys circumscribe the illusion of free will. Wow – so circular I’m dizzy…
If ignorance is bliss, is its corollary true? Is wisdom misery ?
No :
La sagesse n’est pas la misere, mais la misericorde.
A VERY rough translation :
Wisdom is not misery, but mercy.
All I know for certain is that reality is far, far stranger than the strangest thing imagined by the strangest individual to have ever lived this strange existence.
My humblest thanks for reading.
Stay tuned for PART III. It gets even stranger… !
JBArk
Link to PART 3
The culprit, the elucidator, the fiend, the KEY:
