September 15, 2007

Lucy saw Traffic in the Sky

contd from...

Between silence and sound, lay suspended a moment. Lucy was trying to focus on her thoughts, the words in the background kept giving clues, but she could not listen to the entire sentences, and definitely could not avoid trying to make sense of sentences.

The key words kept ringing in her short term memory, slowly becoming imprints, and would eventually turn into thought-patterns. The words floating in the deathly silence in her mind were like the notes on staves of wavering frequencies.

In the whiteness of the view in front of her imaginary eye, was the quintessential evidence of possibility. Infinite possibility.

She felt somewhat reassured in this state of mind.

Now it was time to draw.

A murder led her to the heart of a Russian mob. Select cities were destroyed by the higher intelligence. The control of an unaware controller is the first step for the self-aware entity to become free.

Read that last sentence over and over again. It is SO close to the point of reality that Lucy was experiencing!

But now the morning had brought over a lot of people on the street. They were hopeful, liars, pious and forgetful. They were evil residents under the influence of malfunctioned drama. She wanted to travel to the lobster place across the street. She was hungry.

She went through the swivelling doors. Walked by the lady waiting to seat her, and sat across a table with a reserved sign on its surface.
A lonely man walked alone towards her and sat on the opposite chair. On the other side of the room, an old woman was reading some mock newspaper. The headlines read SATAN ESCAPES HELL.

The food arrived shortly. In the neighbor hood the wind was blowing over 50 miles per hour.
The dinner went smoothly, considering that Lucy was 96% invisible. The 4 percent of her that was still in the visible range, was too diffused in the noise of modern day world. The background can overwhelm the foreground to a very extreme extent in certain circumstances.

The wine was old, and it hit her. She was not sober anymore. She wondered what the difference between sober and under- influence was. One was distinctly different and short lived, while the other equally distinct and eternal.

Dinner was over. She was satisfied with her uneventful evening so far.

Through the window she saw a man staring at her. How could he see?

The stalker was blind. For him time moved very differently. There is no sun rise of sunset to define a day. The rotation and revolution of the planet had a different meaning to him. Sound was more informative than anything. Touch was a blessing.

He was staring straight at Lucy, and she was staring back at him.

Someone at the corner table just spoke a lie. In 10 minutes, the explosion was going to devour the restaurant. Every one was gonna die. Or whatever that means when the sensory machinery of "feeling" the world disintegrates and disappears.

Time passes again in a strange manner and way.

September 13, 2007

Forty 2

DNA's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy hints at 42 as an answer to the universe. Ofcourse, the conclusion is obsucred by the ambiguity of the question, but a pertinent question still remains: Why 42? Why not 40? Or 41, or 39, or 21?
What is it in human consciousness that generates the imagination? What is it around us that gives us the idea?

I walked out of the new place. Now a different evening. Something moved in the vicinity, the light was green and blue. I looked up towards the black dome of infinity. The night sky. Countless stars stared down my eyes, reflecting each sparkle into shades of black and white. Thoughts and memories danced to that sight. Perception quivered in its wake.
With unimaginable intricacy a few billion year old machinery went about doing its business, and in my mind was an image of the past, light years away.

I could hear birds, chirping between the rhythmic beat of the traffic, cars powered by stroke-engines, pistons throbbing, pouring out energy through a fossil fuel, creating motion out of matter. Operated and steered by intelligent beings, the motors whiz by at varying speeds, at fluctuating frequencies, pitches, synchronized cacophony, mercurial harmony - the true sound of reality - the present moment!

I could see it. I could hear it!

So after billions of years, the stardust that turned into me, was light years away in the sky, an ancient image of eternity, reflecting in my eyes, imprinting on my brain, scintillating my mind, in a sensual confirmation of awareness.

Meanwhile, the earth rotated around itself, and revolved around the sun. The solar system circled some corner of the milky way. And all of it they say, circles about expanding in an infinite space - after having started from a pulse that went out with a big bang!

I turned back towards the streetlights, the STOP sign. The blue and green sky. At my feet a dot and a 4 and a two.

Arbitrary you may say. Random you may Conjecture. Chaos or order? Particle or Wave? Consciousness or Matter? Energy or Time? Black or White? Dream or Wakefulness?

Signs and Shapes. Curves and Squares. Fours and Twos.

The path shone in the yellow light. Fluorescent filaments burned.
In the beginning there was fire. In the beginning there was the wheel.
One becomes two, and two becomes four.

It becomes me, and I become you.