Category Creative

Beyond

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In the beginning there was everything. Complete, consistent, continual, experience in objective form all possibles in all universes.

There stood within this everything, something missing, an infinity outside, the infinity of subjective experience.

So everything began time, seeking itself from it self.

Thus, we began.

Heat became atoms, and we were the heat and the atoms, and the space between them. Atoms become molecules, and we became those droplets of water out in space.

And so forth and so on. We became the bacterium, and consumed ourselves each time we brought more tools of subjective reality gathering, forming DNA, forming more and more complex beings to touch the edges of subjective reality without ever wanting to touch infinity, because we were and still are infinity.

So we became conscious.

The first woman to ever bring forth her eyes by the fireside and looked around, at her brothers and wondered if they thought about the stars as she did. Here the loneliness of man began, as she lived and died maybe without knowing another creature who thought as she did.

And so on and so forth, even so now, we forget. We forget we all came from one place, and will go to one place, because we must forget in order to experience the grand lie.

The Shadow

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The sun rose on the ashen plains of the soul, as it always had, as it had in the days of the first man, as it had in the day of the last man. No moment passed without her witness, and now she trodden beside him, his uneasy gait, plunging and rising, the tide of the testament to impermanence.

He could not conceive of her. She trailed him in the corner of his eye, and the animal part of him knew her, urging him forward, sweat pooling at the palms of the man, beyond his recognition.

The man for his part rubbed his hands on his dirty leathers, and walked into that dying sun, the orange rays burdening his eyes. Death urged him forward, her lips dry and cracked her visage unchanged, but eagerness shone in her eyes.

This would be it. No more sentience, no more work, no more hands to hold, no one else to watch over, no one else to lead back to the fold. The grand experiment, would be finished, once again the universe would be cold, and dead and quiet.

The man turned, and faced her for the first time seeing her, and with a gasp he was no more, but death remained. No bliss came. Somewhere far off in the darkness, another sort of creature’s mind awoke, and death with her cracked lips cursed the silent earth, and began the long quest once more.

Cancel Culture: Well meaning, but misguided

Max Beaulieu 1 Comment

In a the village of the blue bird the inquisitors walk in check-marked robes bustling in the winds of change. Like all inquisitions, it began with noble intent, and heretics and sinners they did find. Having burned through them, the hunger did not abate or abide.

So the inquisitors patrol, even now, as the residents scribble their thoughts, and post them to the town square. Here words are weird in the old sense.

These crusaders stepped out to stop predatory creatures from preying upon the weak, they are not to be hated, but pitied. Their problem came in their methods, not their intent.

Those self-empowered crusaders made no hard and fast rules of when to stop, and like a human algorithm, they simply began to follow their programing.

The openly monstrous hid away their darkness in the quiet distraction of the pyres ghastly shadows, and slipped into the mindless. So the inquisitors dug deeper, their personal slights becoming warrant enough to attempt to destroy those around them.

Those people, who seek only destruction, cannot see that in their scorched earth they leave behind the seeds of hate. Where education, compassion, and forgiveness might have lifted that yoke, their heavy hand locks it into place.

I understand that need. The deep existential debt they feel they owe to those around them,( for what but being born with more?) but in their hurry to abolish that guilt, rather than bear it with noble intent, what is lost?

The Song

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It’s no secret. Some of you were not as lucky as I. Some did not grow up in the shadow of a man dedicated to you for no other reason than love.

For this I am sorry, but not because I caused ill, or owe some form of existential debt, but instead I am sorry in the way Canadians say it. I feel for you.

There is a song. It’s in us. It is the song that hummed on the first night of humanity. Deep and long ago, where time stood the way we think of gods as big. Maybe, maybe we stood on the shores of a great lake, our fellows around, and gazed up by firelight at infinity.

Let us return there now. Let us now young men, come among the dark. Maybe you did not have a father or mother, or guiding light. let us become a village to raise the children inside our ourselves.

If you did not have someone around. If you are young. If you are old. If you simply want to be here, I invite you all to come, come to the fire and seek out the wisdom. Let us become the parents some of us never had.

I cannot save you, but I can guide your rage. I cannot heal you, but I can listen to your pain. I cannot live for you, but I can make the living a little more bearable.

We men, are victims of the same system that ate up our sisters. We are all drowning in it, we are simply drowning slower.

Let us instead reach up and heal ourselves. Create a world which we would have had for ourselves, and gift it to those of the next. Let us teach the past so that we can avoid this struggle.

Come now, hear the hum of the universe, it is you and me, and her and him and them.

The Forest

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We awake blinking, wipe the sleep for out eyes, and adjust to the quiet. Just beyond our resting place a bonfire burns, the crack of logs breaking the the night. Great thin trees lance upwards into the sky, or where you might think a sky would be if not for the flurry of branches that block out the stars.

Approaching the fire we see we are alone but for the footprints and pottery of past visitors. For a while, we sit warming ourselves, and by chance we look up. Here and here alone in this dark and endless forest we see them, pinpricks of light, where heaven pokes through.

After some time, too long a time to remember we rise, morning is not coming we realize, the dark is pervasive, permanent and real. We venture to a pile of logs nearby, and put one on the fire before heading out into that vast and unknowable darkness, seeking fires that may or may not exist, hoping that the fire can burn a little longer, and that maybe in some other form we might find it again.