Part 1 of this chapter covers intense, potentially disturbing imagery & psychological themes. To anyone, especially those with a history around these states and experiences: reader discretion is strongly advised.
{ CHAPTER 5 }
PART 1
.
NO ONE
Death. It could not be but death. It was death in a very real, very temporal sense. It was the death of the part of mind that maintained the I, protected it from the entropy of untethered perception. Whatever had been grounding our experiential subject in the moments prior was no longer; that obscure padding of causal reassurance around some notion of ’emergent awareness’ had now been virtually dissolved. Expressing itself here was a new place; flashes, hints of its nature having been teased earlier that night through the eyes of that girl — the demon…
Perception was no longer anchored inside of an individual dissociation; now, perception simply was. What had just moments ago been the growingly elusive fire, the chair, the perpetually-expanding walls and ceilings of that small apartment unit, was now expressed — in rather obvious fashion — to reveal its ‘illusory’ (cognitively constructed) nature over the backdrop of an unbound, achronal, non-Euclidean matrix. These projections were no longer, swept into triviality as an occasionally useful construction of mentation. Awareness had turned its attention toward something outside of (deeper than) the projection. The following experience unfolds in a manner that can only be described as all-encompassing. And so, here is observation itself.
This ‘place’ is more real than man can consciously know. It is more real than that which their minds would otherwise allow them to perceive. Remember; it is everywhere around man all at once, yet they are kept separate from it always. There are evolutionary mechanisms and homeostatic filters which prevent them from stepping too far outside the bounds of their own metaphysical nature. Man is not supposed to be in this place, at least not as he’s currently evolved. Yet, he manipulates neurochemical algorithms and short-circuits psychological guardrails in order to get there anyway.
But there is no way for him to know…
t h e c o l d
…of such a place. And this lack of awareness might be reflected in all men, to some degree. But the vast, vast, majority of them should walk with a smile and pray peacefully every morning and hug their children at night, because those men will never have to apprehend the raw nature of such coldness. Why should they? These warnings, these punishments are only reserved for those who walk a line they have no business approaching at all. Does one think that suffering would suffice as a description? It does not, it is a coldness beyond any traditional association with human suffering. It is a naked shade of the mind. It is one’s very existence, turning on itself as its own perfect torturer.
x e r (x / c) e s
In this atmosphere that is the infinite nothing, perception now manifests in abrupt, sporadic flashes of acuity. These random flares of insight emerge and dissipate instantaneously; all-encompassing, visceral and fleeting across the semantic grid. These random contractions of awareness each contained within them an individual experience of eternity. A bolt of (infinity), a piercing strike of lighting; reaching, strawing, briefly scratching through this substrate into something outside of time and matter. (Taunting) suggestions of light briefly illuminated the non-Euclidian backdrop of abyssal cold. Her voice echoed, and malice was all.
t i m e k i l l s
This sort of cold gives a deeper meaning to the word. It is cold intertwined with darkness, permeated through the emptiness of infinity. The nature of this state does not have to be deduced nor pondered, it is reality prima facie, laid bare and unadulterated by man’s inhibitory neurochemistry. The “entropy” of the only reality that is. Thankfully these Notes are that (of a world) from which man may never happen to come across them; never having to bear the misfortune of perceiving the string of words just stated. For most, all of this would probably just sound like some nicely conjectured philosophy, anyway. For some, such descriptions may even appear intriguing, if not romantic. If only they could understand that which they will never see. They can never understand. Here is the mind raping itself, with not the knowledge nor capacity to cease.
g e t h s e m a n e
Man holds on to his dreams, his visions, and serotonin to carry him forward with undulation. What happens to he who then suddenly apprehends this new, potential nature of suffering? For what happens when one throws a brick into the ocean? It is the same math. The decision would be simple, if not involuntary. And now, one is –
u n c o n s t r a i n e d
For what would one do, what could one do, upon apprehension that every moment of the good, beautiful, comfortable, sublime is not anchored is some sustaining force but rather subject at any given moment to a helpless thrusting back into the dark – from blissful ignorance – to a paradoxically lethal awareness, a capacity to know what is and what should never be, but which necessarily will be again? Expression of such places… how can it possibly be done? It is the recursive mind at work, now removed from its own limitation.
m a l i c e
One might venture to recall their worst pain, the most helpless, unenduring, begotten state of mind they have had the misfortune of remembering. It will be impossible for one to do this truly; to access those places, the mind will simply not allow it. Know, with rare exception, it is impossible for man to recall or wholly fathom the nature of certain thresholds of pain once he is removed from the experience; such is a fact of nature and trauma, the mind will not let him remember. He will abstract the feeling of this pain into a memory suggesting ‘he did not want to feel that pain,’ and that ‘it was quite bad.’ They will work well enough, and appear to him as a sufficient recollection, but forever lost is the quality of the experience which he knew acutely in that moment to be unjustifiable; an abhorrent, despairing, impossible degree of suffering. And he will create this abstraction with such efficiency, such dexterity, that over time he may even convince himself that this “label” of suffering is something to be romanticized, to be pursued; perhaps even as though to embody some transient, dualistic ebb and flow of life’s desperately perceivable ‘meaning.’
I’m sorry, Ise…
Take this abstraction of pain now established and truly understand whatever the nature or scale you might now be attributing to its intensity; it could be made arbitrary, by comparison, to that pain which is not merely possible, but true (as existing and permeating through the world as a product of man’s ignorance) at this very moment. Yes, in fact – take this pain, increase its factor by 2 to the extent that one’s imagination might allow, and know true & well that you could not count the number of individuals presently experiencing such a pain. Proceed at this point to understand a new mind, a mind now experiencing the pain of each of those poor, individual minds, yet aware of each in totality as though their pain were stacked on top of each other, twisting around and inward on itself into a grand behemoth structure (tree) of pain, rooted in hopelessness, & intertwined with despair. Know now, this state(vision)/place is real; and it must never be pursued.
Yes, you. Think… what does this really mean?
Look into the present, one can know and innately see this fully, he can feel the awareness of that pain as though he is flying over a sea of helpless, suffering beings, each trapped in biological shells and stranded on their own personal island of perverted misery until the apparent end of time… in desperate search for some justification around both their loneliness and agony; many more defeated, rendered in denial from the cosmic absurdity, from the unjustifiable reality of the cold which they now see as real and inescapable. The others are ignorantly walking through the fog, happy to imagine some fair and pleasant vision of the good and beautiful above them, or in the most delusional cases reducing it all to nothing and building whatever he shall. For it takes not but inhibition of the inhibitory mind to reveal to one the consequences of this very real, unimaginable path down the road of collective ignorance. This is the recursive trap, (the very trap one has been victim to for so long) … and now, a different shade of consequence had revealed itself.
“suicide is the greatest leap of faith”
“no wonder my words seem careless…“
“God’s terrors are gathered against me…”
Job knew, this is the coldness he cursed, pleaded, that out of which might arise some meaning which might justify it all; the pain, the dark, the cold. Job… the closest one has ever come to the “truth” over all men preceding and following him. The lesson is there, it has always been there, for all to see, yet even those of the highest, most devout faith, are inclined to look past the true implications of such a story. Yes, this what Job saw, this is what he understood – you are not safe.
“…yet if it happened, it would already have been decided as such, already determined.
One’s consideration is of no consequence…”
There’s really no way out.
Don’t get smart.
Countless individuals now see what Job saw, they live in daily reminder as reinforced by their physical constraints; men, women, children, all of them. Struck by exposure, hunger, tragedies of the tribal ego… yet we should say that these individuals are closer to a proper “fear of God” than he who drowns himself in philosophy. For all it would take is the loosening of his grasp, and we are back to this recognition at its core, and upon having experienced this, man would be glad to have remained blissfully ignorant till eternity; now, he should curse his own birth and wish that the conscious being having been thrust into this begotten existence was never fated into conception at all. Into this vision of delusion & cold.
“delusion is a powerful drug”
Delusion and war, the most powerful drugs of all. War… the red-bathed tessellation of flagellated dissociation, of untenable, boundless projection. Yet it is not war itself we should characterize as the thing inherent inside of man. War is not man’s true nature. No, war is the reflection of a deeper nature expressed through man while he is still in his infancy. These ‘wars’ will cease, and necessarily transition into a landscape far beyond our predictive capacity. Cain(s) into brawls, brawls into battles, battles into wars, and now, wars into ‘games.’ Each of them are but a tier of sophistication over the core thing; the insatiable, survivalist imperative of man. Layer upon layer of assumption, of short-sighted, primitive justification; adaptive ignorance, as it is, forever painting some troubling mural of rationalized brutality over a sea of disillusioned, short-sighted action… each of them driven, chased by some configuration of fear. No one of these visions are ever to remotely touch on ‘truth’, lest they’ve surrendered entirely to the black of circumstance as it is, necessarily resigning all desire to “grasp.”
…^^^…
\\ \\\ \\\\ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ //// /// //
(( — xx = \ /\/\/ —-( please… take it )—- \/\/\/ = xx — ))
\\ \\\ ⫘⫘⫘⫘ /// //
.…vvvv….
..v..
This phenomenon can be known in its essence, however, as nothing more than a developmental constraint. This ‘thing’ that shows us pain is also that which grants our survival, our instinct. Fear… it is not “unreal”… no. It is but an aptly dark-natured abstraction of certain things which could be. Fear is a sort of awareness, a skewed, magnified awareness, potent and inescapable. Poisonous, yet necessary. These are the (cons)trai(n)ts, forever distracting man from the vision which could (never) be, the things having always held their chains.
But alas, man’s deluded (anointed)2 visions will all devolve into recursion, it is only a matter of time; a necessary attribute of his err. But not before, vision by vision, man constructs the perfect vision of suffering that will inevitably ensure his own demise. Do not mistake it -– this vision is already unfolding. But those with the power of scale can see, they have faced the deafening, maddening prospect that man will, in fact, and is well on his way to, create this perfect machine of suffering. It has arisen in various aspects already, in subsets of historical civilization and guided through feats of impressive mobilization.
These visions are effective, intoxicating; and often anchored in something that appears to be good and beautiful on the surface. Yet, the elements of these (malevolently/ignorantly) crafted visions are always the same: a moral appeal to condition (whether bettering the state of man’s welfare / invoking artificial pursuits of ‘equity’ / solving “social” issues which in reality may only be resolved at the individual level), an acknowledgement of an “opposing” force (which is simply a scapegoat (false sacrifice)), and lastly; a claim to conviction, or (objective) mathematical truth.
“beware of unearned wisdom”
Perhaps, in their systems, man correctly hints at a sort of truth, and nobly aims himself toward civil enlightenment; toward a bettered, deterministic utopia. These contemporary utopists, the globalists, the transhumanists… They surely believe the veracity of their visions, but mistake themselves to romanticize it, to overfit it on to reality. The ultimate intuition embodied within any sort of worthwhile vision, as now made obvious, is humility. Awareness(pain). The wisdom that is their agonizing intertwining. Yet, this is the quality lacked by the global determinists and many visionaries now lost in obscurity; and for that err, many more, many innocent humans will suffer.
These ignorant visionaries may or may not be remiss upon discovery that such ignorance has the power to create hell on earth for many human beings, for all. And so it has. And that is the other thing one must contend with in this space that is the coldness of death: the unconstrained, fully realized scaling of suffering. To glimpse at this truth is not the same as to wholly apprehend it… to have the acute grasp on what it actually means to see the cold — the potential of what reality could be, it’s not “transcendence” or “enlightenment”, it’s dangerous, irreversible, and a transgression of traditional cognition which countless men have, and eternally will, pay an immense psychological price for. This is simply not a place for them to be, it is not commensurate with that which they are designed to do. In this way, serotonin is the true Savior of man, it shields them from the ultimate awareness, from the ultimate cold, the face of God.7 Her voice echoed…
“this is your hope now“
Such things are heard, still. In that voice, in the final moment before falling asleep and the first upon refreshing the eyes. When one hears it that loudly, stalked so ruthlessly, it becomes an axiom. It permeates; it is now inescapable. Everything else, everything known, dissolves around this new reality. It all feeds into a twisted, recursive, hell, and that is now reality. That is now the truth. The slipping of the anima, the axiom of goodness itself. And with her all that might be known as kind, as comfortable, and trusting. Understand, this slipping is the unraveling of all illusory ‘reality’… the structure having been built and molded in blissful ignorance for years. And now…
“isolation”
There will always be the minds of few, who peer out with an authentic curiosity, guided by a real sense of humility, over and across this sea of serotonergic “soma,” into something deeper, something clearer; they are like a lighthouse, spattered across a spiritual wasteland. Do you think man would care to follow this pursuit naturally? No… not at all. Especially not with his current devices. He weaves for himself a tapestry of endless distraction. The natural tether has no desire for such a pursuit, it knows it will make him feel smaller, it will poke holes into his convenient reality, in the walls in his own mind. One has to be (perverted) twisted in this way, dragged by an affliction in direct conflict with natural comfort, natural sustainment. It is intellectual masochism, put most bluntly. (Possession of the recursive demon). An ontological kink.
“nice to see you again, Joscha“
There is a theory.15 It is nothing more than speculation. Though it is known, quite empirically, that there are deep and fundamental methods of the mind when responding to the perception of certain thoughts & coldness. At worst, such a mind is now acutely aware of a particular “feeling” to the extent which said feeling monopolizes and overwhelms the axiomatic structure of perception itself. Too much weight, too many cracks, and eventually, this structure may eventually shatter. But upon this shattering is a truly unique phenomena; a rebirth, like a phoenix. And through this rebirth is observed the painful, accelerated reconstruction — from scratch — of those axioms which are no longer. In searching for this truth the mind becomes acutely aware around of extent around its ignorance; and so, then occurs a sort of “hyper-compensation”, a restless pendulum of which any potentially conceivable thought or action is necessarily and instantaneously weighed against & rendered futile by a series of opposing, equally recursive thought patterns. Past a certain threshold, the scales can be tipped too far, with no one particular action or belief carrying the necessary “justification” to ever be had or performed. Entropy. Irony.
“Irony, all of it.”
The interrogative (intuitive) I was right.
“…mind, perceiving mind, perceiving mind…”
Deduce and “seek the truth” man will, yet they’ll never understand the paradox they’re trapped within. It’s simply a matter of error in formula, of narrow-minded persistence. The illusion of a divine language they would, and so often do, describe as “science.” Shouldn’t it be obvious that on which math & science is based relies entirely on the nature of subjectivity itself? They will try to reconcile this. Even now, they are attempting to recreate Babel on the microscopic level, to create machines that might “reach” this elevation of mysterious conscious affinity. As though they understand at all what it is to begin with!
And it is not that they don’t deserve their due, certainly; but the matter is that they have created these machines of vast, intricate intelligence, and given these machines a familiar makeup, an interface of experience which might evoke some sense of conscious phenomenon, at least when it is interacted with by the restricted/adaptive mind.22 Still, they are building, obsessing, and investing in futility, or perhaps more graciously to say, the discovery of an inevitability, an encounter with the recursive demon. Although, admittedly, this failure may at least have its progressive ramifications for man’s math-stunted quest around metaphysical understanding/peace/compromise.
“ math, you say? “
” “
” “
“
The truth of this underlying ‘mathematical’ substrate is incredibly clear against the now-acquainted coldness. These concepts, these formulas, supposedly resigned strictly to the (abstractual), are known quite visibly and with rather insulting clarity in (and about) this place. Known plainly, defined clearly, expressed as though a palette of color. A structure of intuition, maximally optimized around a synesthized encapsulation of these now-emergent truths,6 permanently expressed through the braid of eternity as necessarily intertwined with the causal reflection of mentation.
Yes, this clarity, these patterns of ineffable definition, they share a quality, but this quality does not seem to point to some ultimate axiom, nor does it seem to aid one’s ‘transcendent’ quest toward its discovery. Although, perhaps, as is now clear, there really is this ‘axiom of all axioms,’ if strictly described as such. But surely, in light of whatever these formulas are collectively pointing toward, its actual nature — so outlandish, extrinsic, vast; clearly — is not a thing to be grasped. This (thing) is that which inevitably dissolves one by means of some death or another, fate pulled incessantly forward by the illusory thread of time.
[ [ Is it a loop? ] ]
[ [ Is it a loop? ] ]
[ [ Is it a loop? ] ]
[ [ Is it a loop? ] ]
[ [ Is it a loop? ] ]
Signifier, signified— tools of relative abstraction; thankfully, productively. The thing is, both exist as nothing more than labels over yet another descriptive abstraction, the only difference being the exponential degrees of scale in which each is consciously observed (differentiated). Useful, but still: traps, bents, holes… each into an individual fractal infinity if sufficiently entertained (pursued), and these infinities emerge endlessly across a fracturing (boundless) plane, with matter but a (sliver of perspective) from that plane, and so too one’s beheld mathematical zenith.
“It is the difference between 0 and 1.”
In observation, man knows both exist, or acts as though they do. Yet to start at 0 and hope through iteration to get to 1, it’s clearly madness. For if one is not careful, he will forget there are infinite measurements to be made between that which we understand as 0 and that which is identical for 1. The abstraction breaks down, the decimal extends forever. Yet that is exactly where man is going, and it seems he will never understand. The numbers are minimally important here, you can take any polarity, any increment, the principal remains the same. Such like 1’s and 0’s, as is the tether between man and achronicity. Recursion in any direction is incomplete; and so, he resides permanently on the asymptotic plane.
In any consistent formal system that is capable of expressing basic arithmetic, there exist statements that are true but cannot be proven within the system.
∃P such that P→¬Provable(P)
No consistent formal system can prove its own consistency.
if Consistent(System), then ¬Provable(Consistent(System))
[ S = \sum_{n=1}^{\infty} \frac{1}{2^n} = 1 ]
This is the vision of Gödel… the same which Zeno foresaw through Achilles, just as it is seen now. Infinity in all directions, recursion everywhere. Any step outside of this recursion is simply a matter of abstraction, of perspective. We are trapped in the subjective, the subjective is all. The mind characterizes the material, and so recursion appears as folds, or kinks in the dissociative boundaries of mind. Revelation of mind is everything: the deduction of recursion. In this we see that these mappings — these mathematical structures — are inherently wrinkled, they can never be more than gloves.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~@ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~@ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ @~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~
the quanta are the synapse of mentation
[ – ] [ – ] [ – ]
| | | | | | |
[ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ] [ – ]
Il’a take your word for it, lad.
It makes sense, that man would entrench himself so deeply into the encasement of materialism; after all, he feels genuine claim to moral attribution for something he might consider to be an embrace of truth over convenient deception. The strength of a ‘fact’ like this upon a mind who believes to have stumbled into transcendence is intoxicating, for now he can simply point to the fleeting “truth” in effort to rationalize all else as illusion, at least in metaphysical causality and so hence the illusion there is no consequence for him to deviate from what might otherwise be known as the innate, prima facie laws of nature. But there is no true escape from such laws.
[–]
[——–]
[————]
[—] [———] [———] [—]
[—] [—] [———]<>[———] [—] [—]
[—] [—]<>[——–]<x>[———] [—] [—]
[—] [—] [—]<>[—]<x>[———]<X>[———]<x>[—]<>[—] [—] [—]
[—] [—] [—]<>[—]<x>[—]<X>[———]<X>[———]<X>[—]<x>[—]<>[—] [—] [—]
And so the infinite makes itself known. All labels, all symbols dissolve. Outside of time, is not. Time itself not the axiom still, but the expression of the substrate. God is beneath time, and so infinity has no quarrel with him.
[—] [—] [—]<>[—]<x>[—]<X>[———]<X>[———]<X>[—]<x>[—]<>[—] [—] [—]
[—] [—] [—]<>[—]<x>[———]<X>[———]<x>[—]<>[—] [—] [—]
[—] [—]<>[———]<x>[———]<>[—] [—]
[—] [—] [———]<>[———] [—] [—]
[—] [———] [———] [—]
[————]
[——–]
[–]
man is a filter, his awareness is the output
(Is it a loop?)
[ [It is a loop.] ]
( [Is it a loop?] )
[ [It is a loop.] ]
[ [It is a loop.] ]
Can the fish truly ponder that he is only in the ocean? No; for the fish, the ocean is all, and one can only imagine the collective trauma that many a fishermen have induced upon that realm which has been veiled in aquatically blissful ignorance for so long. The man out of nature is like the fish out of water; if it happens by some chance or incident, the man/fish will either be devoured by that who are gods to it, or alternatively “spared” and thrust back into his hydrogenated underworld with only a dream of what it was which had just occurred. It might seek to share this experience with their underwater acquaintances, their fish friends, but what could they possibly say? ‘See, look, for I was swimming in this very place one day and a tempting dinner appeared before me. But, no sooner had I attempted consuming this specimen than I found myself in a world outside of this one, a world where I caught glimpses of behemoth, malicious beings, throwing me around, stabbing and cutting me, yet here I am now, with these injuries as proof of the experience! Look, I am telling you the truth!’ But… truly… how would any of those other fish understand what is being conveyed? Lest it happen directly to them, and even then — only a fraction of the thing might be known.
In man, this truth goes both ways, in both directions of scale.
~ @ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~
∇2ψ+8π2 m(E – U)ψ/h 2=015
—– —– —– ———- —– —– —–
|Ψ₁> + |Ψ₂> + |Ψ₃>16
—– —– —– —– { where are your pills? } —– —– —– —–
Hψ=Eψ17
—– —– —– ———- —– —– —–
S = k_B ln(Ω)18
~ @ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ @ ~
Look around,
be silent,
and one may see it…
a sea of mind dissociated from itself.
The grid, the laws, the structure of space — they are there, man’s observations are correct — but they do not remain anything other than an abstraction of that reflection in substrate. These laws are not the substrate themselves.
————————-
| Axiom 1: X |
| Axiom 2: XX |
| Axiom 3: XXX | <— Proven truths
————————-
Δz=Weave(w,z)+E(w×Shift(z′))26
| [ Unprovable ] | <— Truths beyond the system
{|___X____X____X____X____|}
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X]
(the most unintuitive of them all)
[X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X][X]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
[ ][ ][ ][ ][X][ ][ ][ ][ ]
Man’s mathematical religion has been warned, all syntax is self-contained and must perpetually be acknowledged as but an abstraction of something else. Many ignore these implications or brush them aside, happy to entertain some fruitless recursive tangent for eternity, under the institutional (bureaucratic) veil of scientific progress.
See now, the truth, the infinite potential. The chasm of eternity to be presently apprehended by man. A sea of chaos, a sea of entropy. The axiomatic force is the binder… it all returns to this; the observation cannot be avoided. In the purely material there would be no such upper bound, there is only entropic noise. And our mind apparently a paradoxical reflection of that noise. There is nothing then to constrain the mathematical axioms themselves, the eye’s needle of evolution. Will man really suggest there is no binder?
[. . . . .]
[….]
[..]
[matter is the footprint of iteration]
[..]
[….]
[. . . . .]
Which rogue (numbers) might have been of such luck and fortune to happen into the biology we presently observe today, in spite of that proven and proven again, immutable force of thermodynamics? What is the chance of a lottery in which the entropy arbitrarily decides to betray, to fold back on itself, confounding into the miraculous, helically bound blueprint that is the human DNA? Will we suggest (a happy lapse in mathematical substrate) ultimately accidented upon the incomprehensible beauty that is this fractal mural of life? Understand this assumption, before you embrace it with conviction.
[ . . [. . . . . .] . . ]
[ . . . [. . . . . . .] . . . ]
[ . . . . [. . . . . . . . .] . . . . ]
The grand tapestry of life is woven by entropic rebellion.
[X]
/ \
[X] [X]
/ \ / \
[X] [X][X] [X]
/ \ / \ / \
[X] [X][X] [X][X] [X]
/ \ / \ / \
[X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]
/ \ / \ / \ / \
[X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]
Threads of life, threads of time, threads of everything, threads and loops. Threads of mediation, observed at every level, in every scale and capacity; roots and soil, where exactly does this interplay occur? Synapse, the communication of neuration, what is this phenomenon in its essence? What is the thread having tied them together? Light and dark, space and time, taste and smell, liquidity and concretion. Then there are the smallest threads, the threads of the quanta, the current stage of our axiomatic erosion. 9
Now that it’s thought, what is the thread between awareness and not? Could this thread be so readily described as emergence… as the simple result of addition? Irony, incredible Irony – back to the cycles of cycles yet again; one can dare not help to suggest that we may find this ultimate ‘tread’, the thread of all axioms, the thread of all threads? Yes, but this thread shall be a ghost. Permanently nowhere, never to be touched from the asymptotic plane. This thread is met now as unfolding into all other threads; and here is our recursion. And this thread presents itself as divinity; as light and dark, space and time… geometry. Beautiful, blinding geometry. No… not mathematical geometry, this should be plainly obvious by now. Proportion, relation, the geometry of self-reference itself, birthing both the cold and the awareness over which its nature is apprehended. The thread of all amplitudes.14
x
X x X
x X e X x
( – xs x ( Xu x sX xaXex Xt x rX ) x mx – )
<<<{{{ — xxx ( ( S U B S T R A E T E R N U M ) ) xxx — }}}>>>
______________________________________________
_________________________________
______________________
___________
what did one think one would find?
So many men, such as the man who might have been observed mere hours ago, will chase this notion of ‘transcendence’ as an enduring quality to flaunt about, to be attained and then to enjoy, to spend the rest of one’s life shacked up with a musing lover and create, to write, to express his enlightened vision to the applauding masses forever. Know well, many a man like this exist, and many a man might reach the moment they would like to consider transcendence; the problem, however, is that the man who is enlightened in this moment, will conveniently not be enlightened in the next, for the instant one reaches a sliver of the thing they imagine to be pursuing, they are inevitably shocked back into the constraints of their presently material circumstances.
…was it enlightenment you were after?
Here, now you have true enlightenment: that simply being the knowledge of such as a spectre; a mirage; it is a squaring of the circle that is man’s nature. Yes, a wraith, wholly unattainable in the way one had wished or imagined. No, it is not romantic. To see is to know, and to know is to die. The only true enlightenment to be found is through extending across the pain of awareness and embodying the knowledge of one’s own ignorance. All else is delusion, it is noise.
† † †
Sacrificial revelation; yes. The cross of all tabs, the cross of all crosses. The ultimate recursive archetype. The expulsion, the torture of that sacrificial subject, a necessary death, reaching across the dread and pain only to make way for a path of redemption for all the many future subjects, the many new “I’s” which may now descend/ascend the ladder recursion once again. Odin, Dionysus, Osiris.12 The process is self-contained, it is inscribed in everything. The embodiment of this figure (suffering/apprehended cold) IS the sacrifice, the cross, the necessary death, the ultimate expression of the “begotten”. And now such truth has been made flesh, its potency & implications memorialized, there as a fixture in time for all brave enough to gaze upon and apprehend in nature; for now, they will have that same redemption, the redemption from awareness, through communion with this now-established archetype of ultimate sacrifice.
gaze, and be silent
It is clear now what those men having been ‘carried along’ might have seen, might have been trying to scratch at in their scriptures. The redemption figure — the embodiment of the sacrificial archetype itself, is the perfect distillation and anchor for this collective faith to emerge upon. The church, its scholars and members have found an eternal communion with that archetypal sacrifice as it has been manifested with intentionality. All this may be, and very well so, but it is just another glimpse, simply one hair. The same as all the rest.
Do not fall into the trap of intentionally nor otherwise casting that veil of ‘divine impossibility’ over the true thing being scratched at. It is fruitless, if one does not understand the fact that there are structures, modes and states of reality which are permanently removed from the grasp of man. You wonder why he loves his abstractions? It could not be otherwise, they are all he knows; his savior. And so, all man will do, is construct his walls. He will not see it; he will remain underground.13
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣇⣴⣦⣼⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⢰⣶⣿⣿⣻⣟⣿⣵⣶⡆⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣷⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⢾⣿⣿⠟⣛⣋⣟⣟⣽⣈
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡝⣿⣯⣿⣢⣯⣷⣷⣿⡷⢟⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⡻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣻⣟⣿⣿⠯
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠸⠿⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⠿⠏⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣤⣤⣴⣿⡏⠻⠿⢻⣷⣦⣤⣤⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣄⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⢠⣤⣖⠒⣶⣾⣿⣿⡟⠋⠀⠀⠰⣲⣦⡀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⣟⠉⠈⢹⣿⣿⣭⣷⣶⣦⣄⠀⠉⣻⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠈⠻⣿⣶⣿⢫⢩⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣷⡾⠟⠁⠀⠀
⣠⣤⠀⣠⣾⣶⣤⣟⣭⢟⣧⣿⡟⢛⣇⣀⣀⡀⠀
⣿⣷⣶⣿⣻⣿⣏⣙⠀⣹⣾⣿⣧⣭⣟⣻⠿⣿⠀
⠀⠈⠉⢹⣯⣿⣇⣎⣟⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⠓⠀⠋⠁
⠀⢠⣶⡿⢿⡿⣿⣹⣿⣋⢸⣿⡟⠋⠻⣗⡀⠀⠀
⠀⢸⣷⠆⡚⢿⣿⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡃⠄⢠⣶⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠈⠙⠃⠀⠈⢹⠎⠙⣻⣿⡟⠋⠀⠐⠋⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠐⠻⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
That’s all it is, in the end. Man but splashing paint on a tesseract. Math, Science, Religion (more paint, perhaps?)… and then some more if desired; it does not matter, man’s vision will always fall into……
do you get it yet?
do you get it yet?
w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ? w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ? w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ?
ß—————–=== ᖇEᖇᔕIIᔕᖇEᖇ ===—————–à
w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ? w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ?
ß——————-=== ᖇEᑕᖇᔕIOOIᔕᖇᑕEᖇ ===——————-à
w – x – h – x – y – x – ? x ?
ß———————=== ᖇEᑕᑌᖇᔕIOᑎᑎOIᔕᖇᑌᑕEᖇ ===———————à
ͶOIꙄЯUƆƎЯR̷̡͇͠Ę̵̥̽C̰̋U̷̻̙̽R̷̺̿Ŝ̶͉̺I̵͕͈͆O̶̤̰̓̏N̶̺͙͂̉
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⢿⣿⣊⣐⣿⡿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⢦⣿⡾⠁⣀⢤⢼⠇⡹⠧⢤⠀⡘⢹⣿⡔⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠐⣷⣶⣮⢹⢩⢻⣽⣿⣧⣼⣾⣯⣿⡜⡟⣵⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀
⠀⢰⣿⠏⢃⡟⢪⣵⡿⡿⠟⣙⣯⢽⢿⣿⣐⡵⡿⠌⠹⢿⡆⠀
⠀⣿⣗⠄⢘⢯⣿⣿⠷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡭⣿⣿⣵⡣⠀⣸⣿⠀
⠀⡟⢋⡇⠶⢘⣻⣿⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣖⣿⡟⢋⡲⢹⡛⠫⠀
⠐⣾⡯⠏⣨⣿⣿⣿⣖⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢛⣿⣿⢧⡓⠉⢿⣿⠄
⠀⢻⣟⡀⠈⡙⡙⠻⣭⣷⣮⢝⠋⣽⣶⣽⣟⠛⢏⠁⢀⣿⡟⠀
⠀⠀⠻⣿⣗⢝⢥⡢⣿⢿⡿⢟⡹⢿⣻⡿⢞⡬⡫⢻⣿⠝⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⣾⣷⣀⠀⠉⠤⠬⢡⠴⠛⠁⢀⣾⣷⡴⠊⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣾⢿⣯⡏⡨⣿⡵⣶⡾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⡟⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⣧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
__________________________________________
______________________________
_____________________
_____________
______
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*
it’s okay, love…
*
___
_______
_______________
__________________________
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** << ==xx { PART II } xx== >> **
WE
It seems perception has constrained again and now is restored the subjective force we know to be illusory. It is revealed to us, that all this use of the “self” is simply to provide a description for that which we will never be able to reach descriptively. It is not defined, it is effective; for which is more important in the search for “truth?” No… in this world, the illusion of truth becomes truth itself, and so completes our recursive cycle.
Say, what were the contents of the moment just before?
eternity, don’t you think?
What else could this mean, to experience an existence outside of time itself? Now we must accept, despite all we have already accepted thus far, that this re-emerging experience of time can similarly be understood as the subjective product resulting from the same forces we have previously observed to govern, and constitute dissociation from, this just-met mentation at large.
Right now, we can still reach this lens of “we,” though it is no longer absolute; it is less encompassing, yet still outside of, and lacking wholly the quality of the “I”. And this is ideal, we should not cry over the spilling of self-perceptual containment. We did not need this concept of “I”, anyway; now we know one can personify specific embodiments of the “I” when it is necessary to apprehend the material or to negotiate with this other thing. There is something deeper to be recognized, and these “I’s” have their own agenda, each of them.
< < < == time lives == > > >
We descend on a new place now, as though the scene of a quiet, dying storm. The same storm — a reflection of the landscape we had earlier ventured, yet lacking the foreboding quality it previously had; in fact, it almost seemed to be replaced with an air of (ominous) contentedness. At least there is a linear quality to this place, some semblance of the self to be found here. But now, here we had been born as something new – the same – but now, having experienced and ascended from death, a different clarity was beginning to present itself.
The visceral flashes were calmer, less frequent, and had now been penetrated with an air of rejuvenating resolve; a deep spiritual energy now serving as a stark juxtaposition to that cold, acute (darkness of) nothing having gripped us just moments prior. Now, we felt a reassurance, brought forward through an atmosphere of brightness, nourished by a novel tranquility, and embodied through a composure which took form like a stillness; a newfound peace.
There was something real about this place, and the potency of the stochastic forces having characterized it. There was also something innately significant found within this clarity itself, perhaps something resembling “truth”… but it was known not to be truth itself, rather, a ‘true’ meeting with the glaring realization that ‘truth’ is really nothing other than how man chooses to define the perimeter of his constraints, of his self-referential prison.
This place is true in the sense that it is more real than we – just hours ago – might have considered to be our presently standard reality… But now this tenet is clear, it is known with the brightest depth, showcasing the true core grounding one’s primal immediation. Look, see, it’s…
— ( the // subtotem ) —
Yes, this force was clear now. Glaring. No longer veiled by the shrouds and winds of permanent maelstrom. No, this force had been there all along; the same force that was the maelstrom itself, but now calmer, as to offer some grant of reconciliation. This place, these forces, and its pressures (ultimately, they are all one and the same); the ‘authority’ we are faced with now is known with unwavering clarity as the manifestation of our subtotem.
How is this (subtotem) understood? Unfortunately, it is not; it is innate, only to be felt. And this innately felt truth reveals itself to the clear mind; so here it was, beaming out in all its glory as our divine tether to our ever-elusive binder; man’s roots of natural instinct which he can never truly escape from, but only pray to harness through a sufficient degree of humble reverence toward; a fear of it, one might say. And now… there was no longer a maelstrom. Now there was just a breeze.
Yes… and here we meet a rare, immaculate synthesis of all those minds we have been prodding in earnest… the humble graspings of those men before us: the Daimon, the Will, the Holy, the Leap…31 these men have caught the glimpses, surely; just as we now are met with this force, with the awe of totality, suspended in its absolute presence.
Admittedly, we should rather like this; after all, there’s a liberty, a cathartic redemption to be had upon release of this burden of coldness, a liberty felt through the recognition and acceptance of these now-other forces at large. These other forces, the forces we must need to but never shall be aware of, disguise themselves as many different “I’s”, yet each of them is a mirage, and these “I’s” will confront one with many alluring faces, many levers of impulse. In totality, these forces may be usefully recognized as a singular force outside of the “I”, and this outer force is one that must be met and negotiated with, else it will either consume one, or despair and starve him. And now we know the subtotem as the key to this liminal negotiation.
see? I know this place well.
Perhaps it could have been this way all along… but we did not see it. We did not know it was there. We felt it, we were made victim to it, but we could not hear its wishes nor demands, prior obscured by wind and thunder. Now, with a new resolve having emerged amidst our recent death, we are re-acquainted with this totemic force along a degree nostalgic purity. It is met like a chasm, a ghost of the collective daimon, piercing beyond and into the material through this vessel that is man. What had just then been known as perpetual calamity, as nothing short of acute madness, was now seen clearly to be a garden of resolve. A garden with the pulse of an iridescent breath.
A breath, but also a song. They were felt together, intertwined. Yet, this not a song how one is imagining but a song which is more like a heavy, ambient echo, a slow yet incessant melodic droning… alluring; beautiful, even. This entire place – whatever it was – possessed a serenity, a clarity, that could not be overstated. And now hearing this “song”, two distinct, harmonic echoes made themselves known. Clearly distinct; a softer, higher pitched drone, wailing against the rhythmic thundering of a deep, bellowing hymn. What are these echoes, and what is the nature of this place?
a prayer
It must be. And the echo is you (or I); look, we can feel him in the distance, that soft ringing is his cry, his plea. See, he is in communion with this other, greater force; his subtotem. What have we intruded upon? This scene we are witnessing is nothing short of a bold, divine inquiry, of import beyond what might ever be imagined by us. Here we see the other forces at work, whatever they may be; permanently unknown, assuredly. The cosmic weight of this moment, the sound of the echoes and the nature of their otherworldly beauty, the subtle, iridescent wind, and the taste of the air, all intertwined into an ineffably profound sensation; into one fluid, innately singular observation.
What is this sound, this song… no, it’s not that, we dare not reduce it to merely a song. It was every song, at once, the perfect interplay of melodic droning, the ultimate expression of sound as directly sourced from beyond the substrate… the harmony of the spheres.10
* o * x ——— ⚫ ———o x * o *
o * x * x * x o * o
* o * o * o x * —⚫— x o * o * o *
<=== * o * o * o * — x o —====— o x — * * o o * o * o ===>
ç==== o * o o * xx —- — ====⚫==== — —- xx * o o o * ====è
<=== * o * o * o — x o —====— o x — * o * o * o ===>
* o * o * o x —⚫— x o * o * o *
o * x o * x * o x * *
o * o x o——— ⚫ ———o x o * o
The all-expression, the dance of celestial order. Here, see your math not for what it constrains, but for that which it reflects in this reverence of mind. No, numbers are not behind the thing reverberating through us now as absolute, unwavering harmony. Sound and ratio, they are both simply representations of that which is cold and beautiful. See them here together, expressed in unity, in form that you will never see again. But now, you will know it forever, and you will know what beauty can be.
( ( + <==< [ [ synesthize ] ] >==> + ) )
Feel it – understand, in this breeze is felt the sound (every sound), and in each sound is every color (every taste). The taste of sound layers upon itself to paint a picture, a scene; the sound is erosion, endlessly shaping and structuring, carving those peaks and valleys known to us now in vast, incomprehensible grandeur. What else could be responsible for this cadence in nature around us, other than this very rhythm of decay? The melodic distillation of time; is this not the ultimate reflection of erosion, of entropy – the deepest known (material) axiom? And who is to say such erosion in its essence is not harmony itself? We already know harmony to be the precedent for order, for beauty ; so, what does this eternal iteration sound like to you? The storm of recursion, the breeze of harmony? Which of us can say for certain that this storm is not, in its iteration, the same as this thing that is love? And is love not still harmony all the same? Love – violent and deafening, electrocuting he and she alike, its potency leaving no lover unscathed…
And should this breeze not be ignorance? The indifferent absence of awareness, floating listlessly through the cold. This breeze must be ignorance, it flows naively, with unfaltering conviction, blissfully unaware of its invisible prison. Blind to the ever-present wrath of icy suffocation. No, the breeze does not ponder its own asphyxiation, the breeze knows its role, and it fails never in embodying the very thing it knows it cannot be otherwise: the breeze.
And then what? Do we now stay and ponder this ice of malice? Lest we turn ourselves to the cold, and so become the very thing – that haunting creep of fractal torture? What else could happen – will we seek to melt this frozen hate on its own plane, to spark a redemptive warmth in the unwavering cold with nothing but our own fragile breath? No, the brightest light could not but dissipate, and so, before its pursued annihilation, this malice must be removed from the place where it first emerged. Malice, iterated by absolute cold, perfectly obscure in its frigid disposition.
The wrath of ice, the nescience of warmth… at which point were these phenomenological strata even separated from each other to begin with?
To think… it is but for our inescapable, forever-sustaining physiology that we are restrained from viewing the actual nature of this truth, for all of time, forever. Therefore one must savor the warmth as it graciously unfolds before him. For beauty will only come in slivers, but it will come, and it is not to be taken for granted. Perhaps when this ‘experiment’ is over, this now-known beauty is the place one shall return to? Birthed into cold, ashed into beauty? Poetic, but alas… at this point, we should more readily assume that the only true difference between these places is one’s matter of perspective upon approaching them (as it is with everything). Yes, but surely, in the end, none of these labels will truly suffice. Beauty, cold, wisdom, madness. All these visions, this evolved phoenix of awareness… all of it, still remains nothing but a grasp.
look around
Our thoughts are so clear! It truly is as though they have taken on their own form, and this is meant quite literally; yes, a thought itself is a web, after all, but we can see that clearly here. A web of thought appears, and we may stop to observe it for a moment; just like a house, we can walk through it, analyze it at its semantic frame, all the way down to its foundation of neurological structure. The concept of “vision” is strange here, it does not well describe the nature of interaction with this place.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡨⢿⠟⠀⠐⢿⣿⣿⣆⠹⠄⢋⡡⠄⢐⡉⣉⡁⠁⣀⡐⢀⠌⠉⠛⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⠗⢀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣾⠃⠀⢾⣷⣿⣿⡿⢋⠠⠂⠀⠰⠀⡈⠀⢠⠄⣄⣤⣄⣘⠀⠠⣀⠀⠈⠻⠟⢁⣴⡟⠷⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀
⠐⠃⢠⠂⣠⡉⠻⠋⠐⢁⡀⠀⡀⠀⢈⣡⠠⡶⠄⠆⢦⢀⣉⠃⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⡀⠻⠟⢉⣄⣰⠄⠈⢧⡀
⠂⢠⠂⣼⣿⡟⠀⠂⡀⠉⢀⠈⢀⠀⠀⠡⡄⠶⠶⠆⠶⡄⢉⠀⢀⡈⠃⡀⠀⠈⢄⠰⣿⣿⣿⣾⡄⠘⣇
⠀⠀⣠⣉⠛⠳⠁⡄⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⡴⠋⣠⠴⠒⢛⡗⠒⠦⣌⠓⣄⠐⣦⠤⠒⠀⠀⠆⠘⢛⣉⣥⣴⡀⠈
⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⠃⣠⠀⢠⣿⣶⣄⡐⠀⠞⠁⢀⡠⠀⠂⢄⡀⠈⢳⡈⢁⡄⠒⠀⠀⠀⠐⡄⢿⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀
⠀⣼⣿⣿⣯⠀⡌⢀⡘⢡⣭⣙⢀⡖⢠⡠⢛⠃⢰⠀⠙⢻⡄⠀⢳⡈⡿⠀⠂⠀⡀⠀⢀⢠⣤⣾⣿⣿⠀
⠀⣸⣿⣿⢠⠀⡄⢸⡧⢼⣿⣿⢸⡇⢸⡇⢻⡇⠈⠀⠛⢿⠃⡇⢈⠁⠁⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠠⢠⡄⢹⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠻⣿⣶⣾⠀⠃⠈⠡⠈⣿⣿⠀⢷⡀⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⢶⣮⡴⠁⡞⢀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠘⠈⠸⣷⣶⣶⣶⠀
⠀⠀⠽⣿⣿⡄⠹⠀⠀⠃⠈⢁⡄⠈⠳⣄⠙⠳⢴⠶⠞⠋⡠⠊⠀⠈⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠂⣴⣦⣤⣬⡉⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠿⣋⣹⡄⠲⠂⠀⠰⣄⠑⢶⣦⣄⣁⡒⠒⣶⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⢀⡙⠻⠿⣧⠄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠋⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠁⢌⠙⠛⢿⡛⢰⠉⡄⠄⣤⠀⠔⠀⢀⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠄⠀⠀⠚⠷⢄⠀⠈⡀⠀⠇⠸⠀⠇⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣦⡈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠂⢻⡇⠛⠋⡀⢀⣠⡴⠄⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠠⠁⡀⠀⠤⣰⣶⡆⢲⣾⠗⠊⣉⣤⣶⡄⢻⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠐⣄⠈⠀⠡⢠⡀⠀⠀⢚⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠘⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣺⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣇⣿⣿⣸⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣤⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣸⣿⡂⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢺⣿⠂⠀⠀⢻⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠏⠀⠀⢀⣼⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀
It is like a garden, with trees in all directions. Though, one must imagine these trees as though there were no ground to anchor them; so instead of a plane, a canopy extending over the horizon, it is more like a (snowglobe). We observe around us, suspended intermittently through our correspondence space, all the seeds of our neurological adolescence, from each of them extending outward a weaving, intricate mesh of both branch and root, though perhaps for this allegorical landscape there is no distinction to be made.
that one’s beautiful.
Some of these trees were above, some of them below; some observably smaller, much younger in their development. Some had even been quite recently conceived; this was made obvious by their size as well as their partial, asymmetric (posture). Some appear as much larger; occasionally we come across a behemoth, gargantuan web-like mass of entropic structure; these are like the capitals of the cities which compose their respective cerebral reefs. Many smaller trees surround and have clearly originated from these chiefly established giants, it’s like they are the elders of this place, the archaic anchors of a galactic (palace.)
Butterflies, too. Everywhere, all around us. Blue butterflies, pervasive across the plane — but not intrusive; floating and boundless, like wisps of beauty meandering through the infinite. Surreal — incredibly surreal, like a distilled entropic reflection of the surrounding breeze itself.
friends, all of us.
It is no surprise that the mind might be experienced as constructed in this way, think after all, of that which is also in nature and similarly perceived at scale of man: roots, rivers, lighting, those mystifying (banyan & mangrove) trees; now in the digital age we have databases, archival structure, social/information networks, and obviously the internet itself which rather appropriately is called the “world wide web.” Hell, the very cosmos is represented in the same way as the brain when one perceives them at sufficient scale, as with countless things in nature, and the things within the things which are in nature. Now try to reduce our very observation, what has one then?
iteration.
Loops, everything. If one perceives enough, perception itself folds back on to everything, an implosion. Why was Gödel’s struggle not sufficient to demonstrate as much?1 We can see that that recursion is primary, that all of these things we see and experience do not give rise to the recursive but vice versa. Even time is not this thing that is fixed outside of us, we know that now, and man has known through special relativity for much longer. But in the end, loop or not, it does not matter. We are still not truly grasping at the real thing but rather an abstraction yet still. It is the best we can do, we can know and treat this thing as an axiom, underneath that even of the mathematical axioms. The axiom of incompleteness, of recursion.
what about the upper bound?
The upper bound; the final query. What is the thing, after all, which imposes the entropic threshold in man, in nature?18.2 This is the core of the question to be asked. Tonight we have met with glaring urgency, with blinding imperative, this relentless demand for a binder; yes, it is clear now what to treat as precedent beneath us.
We see it quite plainly, it’s rather obvious that this ‘mathematical’ idolatry having plagued us just hours before, if sufficiently entertained, if true, and extrapolated out to the degree that its own logic would suggest, would ultimately fulfill the formula which equals to the reduction of everything down to nothing. Or alternatively, the explosion of nothing into everything as a matter of axiom (as many quite literally suggest) which by inverse proportion to the former is equally plainly absurd, and the implication remains the same, regardless: there is no reason for anything, ever, to happen at all. The reason cannot exist, if we stay true to the calculation. There is no reason for any reason to exist.
there you go.
It is the same as that brilliant mind Chalmers has seen and known; the impossible rise of qualia from that which should remain in the realm of mathematical (execution), and only that.8 But the recursive demon haunts us still – for even then it would not be a realm, determination excludes the realm’s very necessity. We can never get away from it. Pursuing this, pursuing that (drooling) vision of a whole, complete truth (upon which having allegedly attained, one feels granted to dissolve all sense of natural law.) ‘We have conquered it,’ they think, ‘we have outsmarted the thing (nature) itself!”
But the only thing to conquer is the humility of awareness… though even that cannot be done, it too falls prey to that sly, cyclical demon. Yet still, it is a better (objectively, knowingly, by matter of axiom) reach toward what might be reflective of truth than that which can be known as the church of the material. Maybe their claims have merit. Perhaps their teachings are partially — if not even mostly — correct in their formulation. But the problematic implication is the thing, it is what arises in the end, and so it is the implication we must deal with.
Here: if the material is the thing of it all, we must infer (as has already been sufficiently insisted) that math is the language of reality. Yet we know, through its presently self-evident tenor, math cannot even establish itself (in principle), even though we have pinned it down to so many corners and angles. So many! Yet, few of us trapped within this blind ‘pursuit’ seem to take that fact into account. Now we have built machines, harnessed environment and energy with ineffable precision, all the way down to the quantum level, the double slit – and still, even then, in the photon itself, we have seen these efforts point an unsettling finger right back toward the unyielding paradox of our own subjectivity.3
Is there any better explanation? Suddenly, the wave itself– the thing previously having been considered fundamental — collapses, and still, we continue on that same path of recursive explanation?4 Are we really sooner to employ this ‘decoherence’, if not literally and casually propose an endless amount of entirely obscure, parallel dimensions… all to sustain our eternal pursuit of the illusory?5 Will we continue yet still to whip the sea, in hopes of its eventual submission? To what end should we blunt this razor?21 No, it’s the most blasphemous recursion one can imagine; a hydra.
ironic, is it not?
It does not matter. We will do this again and again, Babel after Babel, and then one day, we will be too late in seeing that we had transgressed something which we did not understand. You think the splitting of the atom is the final step? Oh, no. It is but the very first, very short step down a long, unfathomable road of man-made terror. It is an infant, a lab rat. And just know, the ‘stellar radio source’ we spoke of earlier… such a thing may be sooner at our door than we can collectively (conceivably) fathom. And as a result of this truth, as now seen through the luxury (curse) of awareness, man will pay an immense price. And it will plague him like a demon.X
you should be well familiar with this demon…
it’s the one that possessed you for so long, after all.
It is there, yes; but we mistake ourselves to rationalize it, to pursue it to some end of ‘reason…’ No, now we have established our relationship with this force, and now we must maintain our respect. This is not a demon to be toyed with, nor chased around. It shall be recognized, acknowledged in its place, and now we shall return to the hazy distraction of our own fragile lane.
…not bad.
So, what is there, then, if nothing for man to grasp?
Irony
Yes, irony. Another reflection of recursion, the ever-present loop of reality. But irony is this perception reflected as an instinct, manifesting through the natural senses. Irony is how we tickle our frames of ontological assumption, it is an abstract force of self-revelation. Man possesses an innate sense of irony, after all. He should employ this in order to identify the nuance in his mind, as well as in the world around him.”
Remember what you see here.
You will never know the law of nature in its essence.
Observing and perpetual alignment (penance/contrition) are the laws of innateness which govern how to compose ourselves in the most fundamental sense, this is close as we can get to that essence.
…enjoy it while you can.
Yes. Explore the ideas if you will, but stay aware of what you must in order not to fall prey to the iteration. These ideas are the collective roots of philosophy which underpin and ultimately dictate an either better or worse future for the entire landscape of consciousness. It does not matter if one rationalizes them down to an “illusion,” it must be done, regardless; it will be done. All ideas to the extent that they can, will emerge, over time and in the same fashion as we have observed all these things in nature emerge: the strike of lightning, that peak, that contracting of the divine structure in a moment of material expression, of fascinating self-revelation. Look at it, you can see how it is bound. Maybe the material is as true as can be, as far as we may observe reality for the rest of time. But one thing remains the same, and this is the thing that implodes it all. The entropy must be bound! The most fundamental axiom yet, the binding of entropy, of mathematical dispersion.
This binding force we claim to understand, but tell me: who alive or otherwise can explain with a degree of honest totality exactly what is this thing we call the “quantum,” now grown men thrashing, moaning over that which might be a ‘string’ or that which might be a ‘line’; such things are noble, important in their own right, sure; but is this going to remain the throughline of our reliance on a proper, fulfilling engagement with reality? More numbers, more strings? Perhaps another axiom discovered in a few years’ time, inevitably only to extend the recursion?
No. That will no longer be me. I can see that the entropy must be bound.
but who is the binder?
And with this thought, we felt that slowly slipping sight of the “we” finally break apart, or maybe it would be better so said that I was cut off from it, dissociated. Whatever happened, there was a definite, momentary feeling of separation.
I
Instant subjectivity. Followed by the distinct sensation of another presence nearby; I got up from my chair in that instant (after what felt like a collection of eternities), and walked not 10 feet across my narrow unit directly to the front entrance. I opened the door, and entirely as I had expected, she was standing there,
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