Pandemonium
Fractal Free Will ~
...“So you believe that there are millions of me, out there somewhere?” she asks, leaning back to espy the constellations from beneath her hat’s broad brim.
Ram’yana feels the words well from deeply mysterious reservoirs, breath shaping itself within a mouth of morphing flesh to incarnate into their communing minds like a blossoming flower; “From the perspective of this particular unfolded, unfolding potential, all other realities are merely virtual possibilities, just visions and phantasms; who you are is all a matter of perspective and location, posited by an undying will that transcends time and space. This universe – the one where we’re sitting right here and now - is a virtual reality too, when observed from any location but the one you’re occupying at this moment.”
“But there’s only one reality,” the woman insists across the brim of her cup while a gang of wild children runs past, screaming and shouting with frenetic glee. The concept of differing perspectives seems intuitively obvious to one studied in the nature of lenses and transmogrified light, and Amara’s objection reminds the shaman that such knowledge arises from more than a little time invested in abstruse observations. She taps a waterworn stone with a slippered toe. “Feels pretty solid to me. Why should we care about other universes when one of them is far too much for us to handle?”
He cups the mug in both hands and sips at the bitter beverage, feeling his adrenal glands kicking in – kicking him softly in the small of his back as a fresh breath flows outward, laden with words; “The real question is, if all the world is mind-stuff, then is it changing continually, moment to moment - just ahead of our lightspeed-limited sensory perception, which fails to notice that we are, in fact, creating it all as we go along – or does the matrix change only when we’re subjected to moments of maximal stress, when we focus our will solely on the present moment in times of peak experience?” He finally notices Amara’s jaw is hanging open behind her cup. “Sorry.”
“
“No, no, no! Don’t stop!” she entreats him. It’s getting interesting… what was that about ‘undying willpower’ again?”
“It’s what puts you where you are,” answers Phico as he taps the side of his cup. “The light of awareness illumines gems in dark corners, where others may see only mundane and commonplace stones and rocks. It’s that Random Access Memory of his, gets me every time…” The shaman hunches over the flames. “Ah,” Ram sighs, “but tonight it’s really just random access - not enough bandwidth left for memory right now,” he insists with an apologetic shrug. “Just streaming…”
“So you believe we’re really creating it all – or are you saying we choose where we want to be?” Amara asks, leaning forward and flinging the constricting boa scarf back over her shoulder. “What if the whole universe is a combined hallucination, and nothing is real at all?”
“In the early New Millennium, the question is not if, but how. Do you meditate?” he asks. The woman shifts in her seat at Ram’s direct enquiry, and all three seekers simultaneously sip their drinks and glance into the flames. A particularly rapid series of explosive percussions fills the spaces between the trippy house riffs which are bursting the silent night wide open, as the drumming throng descends into a competitive free-for-all. “I have,” Amara avers after a long loud moment, and a steadying fluid rhythm suddenly reasserts itself within the circle of spirited drummers.
“Then consider that the monkey mind functions at a level of language which is always one stage removed from the central ineffable substance of which we are composed.” The shaman prince feels the voice flowing through him from archetypal realms, echoing through the canyons of his mind and the conduit of his throat, resounding in pulsating resonance with the pulsing music. “At a deeper level,” the deeper voice says, as Ram’s finger points at the space that lies behind his emerald eyes and fixed betwixt his elongated ears, “the being which remains when all else is gone – the true core which is here, still, silent and aware after the monkey has given up resisting the peace that it mistakes for extinction – this true you continually creates the material world.”
Amara stares silently into the shaman’s centre and Phico commences rolling a number as the ongoing spiel rumbles from Ram’s beard-shrouded lips. “You normally only catch a glimpse of what you’re really up to from time to time, and usually relegate that flash of enlightenment to déjà vu, coincidence or happenstance. And aye,” he agrees, “we dwell in a nest of collective creation.” He gauges his small audience’s level of interest and decides to plunge onward when he sees Amara’s black brim nodding in the firelight; her eyes are invisible in the shadowed pits of their sockets.
“The matrix is shaped by all the interweaving, reinforcing and conflicting wills and drives that combine to create our multiplex personalities and the tapestry of spacetime itself - within the obvious constraints of three-dimensional geometry, and the less familiar boundaries of other planes that interpenetrate and create this reality. We are multiple perspectives combining in a massive, interwoven co-creation, in which consciousness continually leaks like a sieve through each point in timespace. We are all one being peeking through many portals.” He finally pauses for breath.
“And that brings us back to zero-point potential and the quantum foam.” Phico raises the completed spliff in triumph as he drives his point home with a stab at the heavens. “The energy of everything and all is continually peeking through every pointy little head and every tiny jot of potential…”
“But what about changing from this reality to some other one?” Amara continues undiverted along her one-way track, paradoxically asking the very same puissant question that Earl Rupert had raised, during an earlier hour in the long first night of the annual Nimbin Mardi Grass. The prince replies with a fractal version of his prior observation while Phico lights the joint; “Everyone does change universes – or change the universe - each and every night; if they achieve ‘delta’ level sleep, beyond dreaming, beyond thought, beyond the gate of the beyond. You can only take your truest self through the gate, unaccompanied, unhindered - naked in the innocence of thine inner sense.” He takes a swift drag on the joint before passing it to Amara.
“Each day we all awake in a different universe - one we’ve directed ourselves toward, that we’ve created whole and complete - but the differences are usually so subtle they’re easily ignored. Even when we notice a slight change or subtle difference, we’re accustomed to automatically relegate it to ‘faulty memory’, if we think about it at all. There can be no such thing as objective proof of our continual transmigrations – but undeniable evidence of our godhood lurks everywhere, waiting for the inquiring mind to trip over, and stumble into the obvious conclusions.”
Phico injects another cylinder of flaming herbs into the conversation as Ram’s rave begins to wind down, passing the fresh joint to Amara as she licks her painted lips and flicks the roach of the first into the flames. The shaman realises that his eyes have been darting toward the dancing revellers for some time, in search of a familiar dreadlocked silhouette. He sighs with self-mockery; and with relief. The fact that he’s searching for the young feral Angel means that his enduring fixation upon a certain long-lost lover has finally been displaced by thoughts of another – and as he well knows, a fresh love is the only tried and trusted cure for a burning old flame. He drains his mug as an unexpected wave of unnameable feelings threatens to refill the glazed clay vessel with welling tears. He surrenders to the moment but the salty tide subsides as swiftly as it arrives, and he squats upon the dry shore of an emptied sea, bereft of motion or emotion.
“Can you change the world consciously - when you’re awake?” Amara’s voice rises over the distant waves of drums and electronica; the shaman has been expecting the question for some time. She quickly passes Phico’s smouldering log to Ramses as she repeats the eternally hopeful prayer of the desperate monkey mind. Her brow furrows into slashes of lightning when the brimming black brim of her hat slips back to release copious unwinding spirals of glossy black hair.
“You’re never actually unconscious…” Ram’yana speaks through the unintended smoke ring that pours from his mouth; “…but at moments of stress – peak moments that imprint themselves deeply on your consciousness and are etched into your nervous system - your attention is concentrated so strongly on the present that you can more easily notice that you’re already magnetising the mindstuff of the manifest realm...” His arm follows the canopied spray of the Milky Way in an elliptical sweep, encompassing the vast stellar globe which echoes the orb of the world, “…and shaping it to your will. The strongest emotions and their associated images will direct the manifestation of reality, whether they be fervent hopes or desperate fears…”
“The universe will take the strongest imprint either way,” Phico agrees. “It won’t differentiate. Pass the joint.” He retrieves the paper cylinder from the pontificating hierophant and puffs it back to life just before it dies out. “…thy passion is the juice, the substance that charges the form of the imagery and spurs it to ignition…” Ram’yana concludes, “…to reshape creation more closely to the heart’s desire.”
“Wow,” says Amara as the number circulates back into her hand. “Then what? It’s all… malleable?” She takes tiny puffs while Phico exhales a purple and green cloud, shot through with scintillating sparks of energetic Orgone that dance and flitter around the firelight, disappearing as they make right angle turns around ‘reality’. The shaman accepts the smoke and has a deep drag, passing the joint to its maker before answering. “More permeable in nature; as the father of the Hashishim said, ‘Nothing is true; everything is permissible’. It’s all a fractal hologram and the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” The stream of Ram’s breaths spins in counter-rotation to the central pillar of rising heat that flings itself skyward above the fitfully flaming embers, spiralling up to the numberless stars winking down on the nocturnal terrestrial realm.
“As above, so below” ...
From the Prince of Centraxis - Be Aware! This link leads to implicate & xplicit concepts & images!
From the Prince of Centraxis - BE AWARE! This link leads to implicate & xplicit images & concepts! @ centraxis.blogspot.com.au/2009/03/fractal-free-will-psych...
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