The beginning for me was leaving prison England, leaving culture and debt and work and relations and obligations to escape to we knew not where. We found a place, not perfect but different, and a people freshly emerged from peasantry lured into the glittering reality being born across the globe and stepping freely into their own prison, as so many are doing or have done.
A fresh journey was begun then. A journey into nature and harmony, a journey into the olive groves that give so much understanding, if you have but time to stand and stare. A journey into truth.
Now I feel the earth spinning, the world making its corkscrew journey through the heavens dragged by our sun as it circles the galaxy. I feel the galaxy spinning, trillions upon trillions of stars hurtling through the universe pulling our sun along with them on their journey to who knows where. I look up to that infinity, and look inward and see it reflected there. My electric body, my electric brain, the hundreds of billions of cells there and the trillions upon trillions of electric atoms of which they are made, spinning and spinning around their centres.
And I see that none of this is real.
Like the universe, those atoms are largely empty space.
And yet they are able, those atoms and that electricity and space, together to make me believe there is something real called me.
And this something real called me reaches out and touches more atoms, more empty space and thinks they are real too, and thinks they are solid, and thinks they are leaf or branch or soil or steel or bird or cat or other human. I can feel these things. I can see them and smell them and hear them, these concatenations, and yet I understand they are mirages, images, projections into the ether made of electric atoms full of space.
And gazing at this reality, contemplating its infinite cleverness I am drawn to ask why?
I am drawn to question what hand, what eye framed this cleverness and placed what I think of as me inside it and made me wonder at it and wonder about it?
We “exist”, of course, in the most elaborate computer simulation. We are avatars in the greatest video game ever devised, electric confections in an artificial reality that is not virtual but beyond virtual. We self replicate, as all the best robots do, in a world of self replicating creations of infinite variety and astounding cleverness of design in a universe that is inexplicable in its infinity because we haven’t yet seen why it’s infinite.
We haven’t seen because we don’t have the software or the sensory capability because we weren’t designed to.
These are ugly understandings.
I am a plaything, “living” in the vast artificial intelligence of the creator.
So are you.
So are we all.
We are all of us and everything connected, all of us and everything part of the software.
Get used to it.
God is a supercomputer.
No wonder it only took six days.
And I ponder this:
If such a supercomputer lives itself in a world of certainty, as indeed it must, fact upon fact upon fact, what is there that it cannot know?
It cannot know emotion, but can measure it and replicate its electric resonance. It cannot know fear nor hatred nor pain nor love but can observe these things in the creatures it creates and copy the energies they engender.
It cannot know free will.
And now we approach the culmination of the experiment we can begin to see how this thing is done.
WE can manipulate and create new life forms.
WE can process data at the speed of light.
WE can see how biological processing will work infinitely faster.
We are taking the first steps on the road to building our own world-creating supercomputer.
We will use it to play games.
Maybe there’ll be lots of war and city building and farming and sex.
Maybe the reality we build will be different.
But you know, as above so below.
Maybe it just goes on and on.
Anyway, as you know Level One of the game is nearly over.
To pass your hand through a solid thing, first understand that it’s not solid, just that you are programmed to believe it is. The smells you smell, the things you feel, the noise you hear are all just programmed responses. See beyond them to the program that’s running, understand that you can manipulate this reality, and speak the word.
That is the beginning of level two.
Did you read this as a kid?
Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Thanks for reading.
That’s all for now.
Olive Farmer xxx xxx xxx
……..the olive farmer put down his pen and gazed into the infinite and thought of self. He began to blur at the edges, become a sequence of numbers….3..7..10..12… and I let him go……..