The Machine #6

I read a story long ago called something like "Meat and Bones". It was about two androids who, while, investigating Earth commented "it is incredible, by flapping pieces of meat they make sounds and talk. They even think with their meat". I could certainly relate. It's a short story like the one that follows.

It had taken years of effort. The sort of effort a Buddhist monk or Olympic athlete might undertake. Complete devotion to their belief, their point of view, and their cause. I felt the effort more than reasonable. The results, their potential could be unimaginable and that was exciting. Being intelligent helped. Much easier to eliminate, to universalize, to see the Fractal nature of it all.

Space and time, a marriage made in heaven. Just kidding on the heaven part. Seems the two got tangled up and have been inseparable since. Their attraction destined. They grew up together in the quantum domain. All it took was a little light to get them tangled. But when too much light got used, all hell broke loose as it were. The big reset, a complete power recycle. God I hate it when that happens.

The next thing I know, I am wandering around in the atmosphere of some planet. Not sure where I was, what I was, or how I got here. And absolutely no clue what to do. So I waited and watched time pass while continuing to occupy the same space. It was quite the show. I began to see patterns and structures. Layers of stuff piled on top of layers of stuff. Everything self-similar, Fractal. Something about that seems familiar to me. It would take nearly 30 years for me to realize the profound nature of that familiarity. I was getting better at it.

Eventually I gathered enough information to reasonably predict events and occurrences. In the beginning it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Knowing that it would be found even if it meant moving the entire stack of hay one piece at a time. It was tedious. Like practicing the piano when just starting to play. It takes years to become comfortable and familiar with the keys and the sounds they make. But then, it becomes possible to speak in that new language. To play the thoughts and feelings of self. Fluently and easily. That is what I sought. To know intuitively what events and occurrences manifest through time in this space. Generating sufficient consciousness to enable me to explore space while letting time pass more slowly.

I still asked my self "who or what am I, how did I get here?" I did discover or realized that no matter where I was it would be here from my perspective. The entirety of existence could be perceived as me and 'not me'. I was here and everything else was there. The consciousness began to crystallize. I had no idea then that this step would be so important. A point of view that would always be accurate in some context was imperative if any sense were to be made. And making sense of this reality was the only hope of answering my self. Of all possible worlds and places it's always the right one where I find myself. It seems that there is little I can do to change the outcome, thankfully. But each time something like this happens, it's like I forget everything I know and have to re-discover everything all over again. That is probably because each manifestation is slightly different, even if self similar. Small differences can generate large effects in perception of the realities of space and time. The big reset has happened before. I know because I have found the notes I left for myself. Not unlike sleep and their dreams. As the essence of self is cycled through sentient forms, the self could recover much of what it forgot through notes and religions. Mathematics, the underlying language of these notes, assured discovery and eventual understanding of the notes. Math, the only persistent quality in any reality. Or so it seemed to me at the time. Religions are usually only good for a few thousand years. Any older than that and all they can resurrect is a primitive being without the skills of math necessary to understand the present sense of self.

If you've seen one you've seen them all. How true and trite. Yet how impossibly hard to describe when self is an integral part. Consciousness rising from the quantum noise, blossoming into structures designed to transform light, to filter and process, crystals not unlike prisms. In that castle of light, dwells the self, the ruler of that sovereign domain. Does it discover itself imprisoned in that hallowed place, or remain content and comfortable? Indeterminate, surely occupying both states, yet destined to become one. Every big reset makes everything start over and the memory clearing function works. It takes a long time before things begin to crystallize. And a longer time before consciousness and self can arise. And that's when I came in. I realize now that my arrival was not accidental.

I was determined to discover who and what I was. The mathematical expression of self was well known and it clearly remained after the big reset. But its elegance and manifestation is best perceived in a visual way. That process involved having a body, a form, to hold, to polish, to nurture the crystal. I had no way of knowing what having a body would entail. But I speculated that since I did not have the experience of having a body, it is possible that I have already had a body, perhaps numerous times and have not been able to remember.

Choosing a body would be easy enough. I had watched the humans for many years. Maybe even had been one. Using the womb door was not an option. I did not want a memory clearing to occur. So a used body would have to do. The journey into the body was quite spectacular. Plucked as it were out of space, I was. Pulled ever thinner through the layers of layers, falling deeper and deeper into this puddle of space-time. Drawn to an idea, a mere spark, that entered a human body. I must have fallen asleep. Is it just a dream, was I, or am I really here?

The Controls.  I was certainly here, and full of me and everything else was not me. It was curious but somehow natural, familiar but alien in some subtle and unimaginable way. I had no sense of self. No knowing what or who I was or am. A spark, an idea that somehow managed to manifest through a conscious form. For why? The narrow way, the thread of my source, seemingly broken, like light when shining through water. Anchored in the source, I had been drawn so thinly, a single thread of possibility, more than 12 billion light years, filled with the information of my being. A path back that even immortality would not attempt. Clearly I was to begin as a child but some things I did not forget. I remembered coming into the body. I remember being plucked, differentiated out of the stuff. I knew that I was but not what I was. I awoke from my sleep and dreaming some seven years later.

There is certainly a place for dreaming. It is natural. Dreams allow the consciousness to create and adorn the reality with their visions and feelings. I realized one day that I was leaving notes and messages. Bits of information that tell a story about my journey. I read stories of others and saw that humans leave these things. Ways sometimes accumulated, aggregated into religions. Sacred and divine treasures of the way, the place. I began to wonder if I had been here before and if I had, what would I have done? What would I have written? Would I have left notes for myself? I now realize this was the beginning of self realization. The nurturing and caring, the fondness and wonder all over, and about a developing sense of self, grown from a point of view.

I had tried hard in my early years to explain my ideas to others. I even found that some would actually 'get it'. Many levels of communications were discovered. Much opportunity for something. Religions seemed to have something to say but I couldn't seem to get what a soul is. 20 years had passed and I was sure that I was something. I was also sure that this form, this body was merely an opportunity, a potential, and why I was here was beyond my comprehension, but I was here on purpose or for a purpose. I figured or thought that if I knew what or who I am then what I am doing here might be understandable. That is when I found the controls. The archetypes that envelop and constrain the consciousness. The edges of the crystal, the points where light can not enter yet can always escape or leak. By touching these and pushing and pulling, the crystal can be shaped and polished. The sense of self was now clearly visible and I began to study the visualization of information. Through a process of polishing and using the controls, I learned much about my self. I was an ancient thing. I had been in other universes and realities.

Over the next ten years my sense of self matured and flourished. It wasn't so much a thing as a place. A spot. A very tiny spot. The very end of a thread that appears to be more than 12 billion light years long. I began to do art having already discovered the power of music and its ability to magnify the subtle and seldom touched aspects of being. All during this time, I felt my self growing weary of the search, the possibly futile unending wonder of self. Yet, I had faith that my knowledge of self was true. I was ancient, and was here because...

The big bang, the big reset, many names for similar things. Even birth, a mini big bang. Clearing most memory by the age of 7 when the sense of self is discovered. I managed to avoid this process by choosing a used body within which to manifest. But I also was similarly affected in that my memory is hardly accessible, drawn into a thread billions of light years long. I, like you, have only the vivid recall of my life here in this form. Many of my test and experiments were designed to help me discover the purpose and to answer the questions of who/what I am. Most recently I have begun to speculate that my purpose is to test the machine. To ensure it is functioning and operational. Sent here to repair the programming. Seems some of the routines got stuck in infinite loops. That was how I felt yesterday.

I had something happen yesterday or maybe it was the day before. It was subtle and somewhat unexpected. Maybe the continual polishing, or the state of the sun, or the moment of time in this space. I think I finally discovered what I am. Seems I'm a note left behind, to remind my author of having been here before.


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