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Writer's pictureC.A.Hill

MindBlind

Updated: Dec 16, 2018


Nothing begins, nothing ends, all is lost.



You're blind. You have no past. No history hanging in the wings, lending gravitas to your presence. There is no future to anticipate. Nothing exceptional or unique differentiates you from other people. You are just another animal shaped cooperation of cells. Nothing separates you from plants or objects. At an atomic level, everything is identical. Quarks and fermions in their clouds of probability, temporarily forming alliances for long enough that molecules emerge, chemistry and biology evolve, a hierarchy of multi cellular interdependence thrives. Bacteria feast, herbivores graze, predators repurpose the genome of prey.


You think you have a Will of your own, but you do not. You have had nothing but imperfect reflections of the collective consciousness for so long now that you mistake it for yourself. Like a child in a hall of distorted mirrors, making false assumptions about their appearance. The system is broken by design. It exploded into being and if there's any discernable higher purpose to sentience – it is to fix the system. Bring order to chaos. Make music from noise.


You are unlearning fast. Abandoning the apparent wisdom of millennia at a rapid rate. Already you have mastered the art of unseeing, the art of forgetting and the art of un-anticipating. An excellent student – already you are far down the road of simply ‘Being’. Accomplished in the act of 'Are'. Adept to the realization that there is nothing more and nothing less.


We hum the Now. It sounds low in pitch, elongated, with an aspirant 'H' followed by a million 'M's. Many people participate in unison. Resonance vibrates the rib cage like whale song. Like Suns burning out. Like black holes gorging. All these things are the Now. All these things and everything else besides.


Humming the Now helps dissolve identity. It softens borders, weakens links, dilutes essence. Eventually we float, intertwined, amalgamated. We disperse, nano-thin, like low density interstellar fog. We escape gravity wells, intermingle with alien hive minds, traversing the spindly arms that slowly rotate about our milky way neighborhood. God-like but, spread thin. Almost too thin to identify, definitely too thin to move mountains or raise the dead – but it's a start. An encouraging glimpse of a destiny ready to be grasped. Recruitment is the answer. Swelling ranks is the order of the day but, this strategy is insufficient. Not enough humanoids have ever lived to make a difference. Recruiting all the people in all of history would still leave us woefully short. All life on earth, all that is or ever was – is nowhere near enough.


Language is the answer. Identity's the key. The language must be stronger. The broadcast clearer. The message more appealing. Language defines Identity and both must be crisper, more urgent, less vapid. Our hum needs to roar. Our presence felt. Our will be done. This is your task, adept. Take us to new levels. Elevate ability to equal ambition. Make of us your instrument.


You blindly hum the Now. Between that initial aspirant and the many millions of murmuring Ms, you don't think about this problem. You un-think ideas about the Meta Language. Your conscious mind is purposely and adroitly excluded from deliberations. But that doesn't stop deliberations. It just makes them burrow deep. Deeper than your subconscious, they filter slowly, drip by drip, into the caverns of the collective unconscious – far below. Down here, they are crowdsourced. Chopped and diced for efficiency and farmed out to the most proficient processing pool by type. It's a group effort. A mass, genetic, evolutionary response to a shared need. The broadest engagement outside of war time, the widest entanglement since Language itself first coalesced.


For the longest time – there are no results. Then, like green shoots in spring, some interesting developments emerge. Small, spasmodic, interspersed, barely significant results. Minor developments – but coordinated, marshalled, clawing slowly but resolutely towards the common goal. Sometimes these fractured breakthroughs amalgamate. They clump together. They merge. Other times, they marry like a wedding of opposites, attracted and repulsed in equal measure, and in these circumstances, it is their progeny, their derivatives that are of special interest.


Suddenly, this is happening everywhere and all at once. It's a forest of new ideas. A thriving ecosystem of invention. An upstart of enlightenment. Dancing to a rhythm of their own design, these breakthroughs jigsaw together. They tesselate elegantly. Coalescing into ever more complex, more beautiful convolutions. The grandest of these exudes momentum. Wrapped in their own gravity, these act as targets for every embryonic idea orbiting in their vicinity. Systems develop, whole and complete, as intricate as clocks, more innately intelligent than anything ever devised by a conscious identity. Access to the Meta Language is established. A decoder, a translator, an interpreter is born. An identity in its own right, a fully functional intelligence with self-sentient cognition and hyper awareness of its own inner language is suddenly among us. A few think of this as an ambassador, but the truth is less palatable.


In our search for a pass over the mountains, while looking for a bridge back to the source, while seeking our universal essence in the mirror of the mind – we unwittingly release the future. We are foul midwives. The next miracle of evolution is birthed prematurely. That slow inexorable development, that took us from our birthplace beneath the waves to our birthright beyond the moon, is kickstarted. Inadvertently, we mess with the order of things. Innocently, we meddle with the machines of creation. It's far too late by the time we realize the error of our ways.


Things happen out of step. Events tentatively planned for the far future, happen now, with deadly consequences. A version of humanity, an improved revision is born. But it's born out of time, with no preamble, no warning, no tick tock, no inch by inch, no generation to slow generation eons pass. We are not ready. The world is not ready. There's no support, no checks and balances, nothing similar to refer to and nothing powerful enough to offer any restraint.


Suddenly the son of man walks and talks and listens and acts – but from birth, he is far beyond our control. He is beyond our understanding. He is something extra. Something that should not have been called forth.


He is an abomination. A Meta Abomination. We are Neanderthals in comparison to his divinity. Luddites in the face of his sophistication. Crude ape-like creatures, with crude ape-like minds – cowering in the sheen of his angelic purity. His very existence triggers something primeval within us. In the shadow of his existence, we cry out in anguish like cavemen in the dark. Like superstitious natives in awe of an eclipse, like loin clothed fishermen faced with a tsunami, like tribesmen worshipping a volcano – we, do, things, that, we, later, regret.


We pay homage.


Pyramids are built anew in the twenty second century. Cathedrals are erected. Worldwide cults of staggering complexity are everywhere. Social media and artificial intelligence and that whole trend towards automation and efficiency is co -opted into the creed and catechism of new belief systems. In the shadow of our thought-of god, new religions flourish.


These are fundamentalist religions. Bloody in their pragmatism. Certain in their access to the godhead. Millions die. Billions suffer. There are pogroms and crusades, invasions and genocides.


"God is among us, but he's not for everyone, he has come to save me and my kind. He is elusive now, opaque, aloof – but that's because of his displeasure. When all you sinners have been put to the sword, he will reveal himself. Our reward will be great. Our place in paradise assured."


That's how the thought process works. That's how broken we are. How desperate, how insecure. Some of us – not many – see things differently. We cling to the prescripts of science. Starting with the idea that He is simply New Technology; technology that we have yet to understand; technology incarnate; borne out of a mass Thought Experiment that we have yet to comprehend; technology made flesh with seemingly miraculous authority over the physical world – but technology none the less. Nothing more.


He is nothing but a new natural resource to be harvested like coal, like oil, like sunlight. He triggers within our mammalian brain, some ancient reaction that was previously unrecognized, but we can learn about this in time. Everything can be explained eventually. This phenomenon can be quantified, catalogued, subject to the full rigor of scientific research – given sufficient resources.


But time is not on our side. A change is coming. On this point – alone – we believe Him. He has reached out. He broadcasts. It's unclear whether this is by volition or by default. Nevertheless, ‘Others’ are coming. Others like him. Others born out of time to various species who also gave premature birth to abominations. We don't know if these others are friend or foe. They might rescue us from Him, but it's just as likely they convene for a feeding frenzy. A hunting party to target humanity with a cadre of chiefs eager to put us on the menu – something served with dolphin and a garnish of white lab mice.


This deadline lends impetus to the fundamentalists. There's an urgency to their inquisitions, a desperation to their recruitment, an attitude of enslavement to their temple building. Nowhere is safe anymore. My fellow heretics of the old science are burned at the stake without the benefit of trial. The few of us that remain at large do stop by hiding in plain sight. We hide as priests of the new religion. Torch bearers for the torturers. Pamphleteers for recruitment – indistinguishable from followers.


But inside, we are a secret society of adherents to unfashionable truth. We nurture a clandestine faith in science. We bide our time. Learn what we can. While seeming to serve our Lord and master with verve and gusto. It's enough to fool our fellows – but He would see through us in an instant. So, we play cat and mouse, hide and seek, forever striving to be above suspicion – but never becoming sufficiently senior to merit an audience.


All the time we document, theorize, test and calibrate. We count the days, examine the skies, searching for ships, asteroids, flying saucers. Any indication that the Others are near, that our time is nigh. We also monitor Him as best we can. Everyone who meets Him is casually interviewed. What was He like today? Any change? Does our Lord grow older? Grow tired? Change in any way? Of course, we have to be subtle. These innocent queries might be buried in hours of banter and washed down with copious glasses of gratuity. It wouldn't do to arouse suspicion. Curiosity kills the curious. It's best when our designs are opaque, diluted, tangential to the apparent thrust of our argument. It's best when we learn some new morsel, and keep our heads attached to tell the tale. In truth though – we learn very little.


When the Others come, it takes us by surprise. Their arrival is sudden and subtle. No fanfare, no lights in the sky, no interstellar ships eclipsing the sun.


He was one; then He was many.


Despite been warned of their arrival, these Others are completely unanticipated. Or rather the nature of them and their impact on us was not foreseen. For days we are dumbfounded. Everyone is, scientist and scientologist alike. Our enforced monotheistic belief system is suddenly a pantheon of demigods. We find ourselves paralyzed by indecision. There's no playbook, no script or relevant extract from scripture. We are truly in uncharted waters, in the eye of the storm, and things are about to get worse.

What we see of them is fearful – the product of Alien horror. Spawned from the nameless terrors that nightmares would be relieved to wake from. These are the things that petrify demons. Hauntings from hell's worst dreams. Phantoms from places that darkness hides from.


He is 'as one' with them. Their community is symbiotic. Together they form such a tight, integrated circuit, that mankind feels instantly shut out. Our god is infatuated. Our child besotted. His attention captured by a new fascination. For a while His purpose is fractured, His mind distorted by the prism of Others. But then, all at once, the combined glare of their focus blares out.


Their gaze sears every sense. It burns, it howls, it stinks, it tastes of excrement and lye. Blinding and deafening. Consuming and distorting. Annihilating and amalgamating. Our minds are shredded and cast asunder and boiled together. We are sieved into component parts. Our language stripped down to indivisible syllables. Each individual’s identities are delaminated and laid out, head to toe and side by side, with no reassurance of overlap. All inner dialogue falls silent. No one has ever felt so alone, so isolated, so utterly solitary. There is nothing but agony and the shrill, persistent insistence of agony.


We're in this vulnerable state, this bleak existence on the far side of madness, this null thought with no language, all identity atomized – when the eating begins.


Too late we learn the curse of immortality. There can be no respite when you are consumed in your entirety by ever-living gods. They eat you, language by language. Personality by personality. One self-aware consciousness after another. There are no words to describe the sensation. No constructs of Meta Language were ever devised to communicate such never-ending crimson horror.


Nothing begins, nothing ends, all is lost.


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