The World Stops

I picture the time that humans will look back at history and come across millions and millions of peoples personal experiences of this generations plague.

Since December 2019 a novel coronavirus made headlines in Wuhan China as it mutated from reptile to mammal to man then to the entire globe.

Initially we foolishly chose to ignore the signs and then we chose to hope it wouldn’t reach our shores, but we forgot we are all connected, that  everything was and is entwined. So Italy, then France then Spain and then eventually everywhere was struck with the impact of this tiny thing that we need an electron microscope to actually glean.

The entirety of humanity is now in lock down, we isolate ourselves in hope of reducing its spread.  Currently millions solely communicate via the internet alone, and as confinement progresses we document our experiences, hopefully for the benefit of future generations if we did it right, maybe just for the sake of our sanity if we fucked it up.

So, spawn of our loins, you may be asking yourselves a number of questions regarding how global isolation has affected both our realities and our minds.

To this day that I am documenting the event many people still chose to act like it has not impacted their lives to the degree that they will never assume what they knew as normality again. But Culture, Art, Social Welfare, Education, Human Relations, and above the Collective Numinous Psyche has forever been altered so completely that we currently remain in a steadfast chrysalis which does not give away its transformative result.

Unfortunately society seems to be decelerating around us, it seems be devolving.  Those that have less in our communities are having to suffer the most, but as we are all focused on our screens, our digital kaleidoscopes to the outside world, the suffrage and inequality that permeates our realities is beginning to rear its gruesome head; violence, abuse and tears have grown as exponentially as the virus itself.

Daily we read stories of brave medics and nurses who selflessly laid down their lives in the service of others and I can’t help but think there could have been more steps to prevent these needless deaths.  But you know what?  Those that sit on the outside of things are the harshest critics.  

Although a scientists, and a specialist at that, I have a spouse who is a cancer patient, and when I slipped that pale sliver band around my finger my responsibility towards others ended there.  And so I serve again in another manner with time enough to permit me to form opinions and ideas.

So if there were things that could have been done then why where they not?  And  the simple reason here is the actual reason we have not yet become gods, or at the least immortals, because we refuse to see ourselves in others, we refuse to surrender duality for bliss.

Our technology was designed to service our fancies, our lives surrendered and spent chasing personal vagaries, illusions sold to us so that we remain in servitude to fake idols and ideals, never really serving ourselves by serving those around us.  

There is an LED lit atlas of the world on the bench, across from where I am sitting now.  The Indian Ocean softly illuminates the room in a halcyon glow, the green that was the old SSR points to the dark ceiling.  A delicate turquoise bubble of a thing from far away 7.77 billion of us now stir in trepidation.

There seem to be good omens, days where the virus does not take another soul in Wuhan, but then reports of recontamination, people becoming re-infected in Singapore and in China and the days till we are free seem very distant.

There are deeper happenings too, events on a spiritual level.  There are reports of intense cluster dreaming, bouts of nights were peoples dreams are heightened. I dream of gatherings and of the time I die.

It's nearly the middle of Spring, Easter was just yesterday, the birds and animals around us have noticed the difference too, which makes it even more difficult for us to remain inside.  Humans were meant to be able to roam and move about freely, particularly on days like this were nature demands it of us, but our nature is being denied us even on this fundamental level.

The night before last I dreamt I was holding a sickle and a flail, the sickle on the left, the stick to the right.  I was walking through high wheat stalks in the dead of night.  I began to fell the stalks and beat the wheat  almost possessed.  Inside me my Mother was awake, Demeter in control, effortless, tireless cutting, beating, repeating.  

     

Black Sun Rising

And so we walk the long mile, humanity all together, a frail small species, a tiny marsupial that managed to dodge enough dinosaurs and hungry bears to build cities and skyscrapers, to aim its viscous and sometimes clumpy genome to the Stars.

Humanity walks its own Green Mile.

I had a Dream the other night that has been lingering, the only way to process it is this, a few words and letters jumbled in my head, disgorged on a screen through my fingers, a motley collection of thoughts and prophecies, an attempt at personal cohesion.  Deep breath.

I dreamt of a Black Sun.  In the beginning I thought it was Saturn but then I gleaned that it had no rings, no definitive substance, no real reflection in places like my head.  It was black and emitted no light.

This Black Sun certainly did not belong in my thoughts, it did not have coordinates or dimensions and much resembled a gelatinous nebulous mercurial mirror.  The reflection of something tangible, such as a looking glass  was the first thought that actually penetrated my understanding, a notion with substance, an actual thing with which to grasp logic.

I gravitated closer to the Black Sun in an attempt to examine it further and something akin to an oil spill shifted on the ebony surface.  Braving my fears I took one decisive step to find myself skirting its edges.

Who in their right mind sticks their fingers in electrical sockets?  Who licks their digits after dipping their hand in a suspiciously unknown medically metallic smelling concoction on a professors desk? (don’t ask)  Who takes candy from strangers?  

The Innocent, that is who.

And so, innocent in my predicament of temporary insanity I stare At God.  Or a god, so to speak.

A singularity, a place where information finds a common axis and all that ever is was and will be amount to One.  Sound familiar?  So you can imagine my surprise when what was meant to be familiar appeared to be the most incomprehensible notion ever encountered. A God and a real thing are actually One and the same.  Notice the semantics in these concepts? This is not coincidental, it is the Truth.

My fingers dare to skim the surface safe in the isolation of my mediations and imagination, and tingle through dimensions.  I watch mesmerised as I dip my hand deeper.  The information that is my hand fingers and nails dissolves like honey diffusing in pool of warm tea.  The data regarding colours and smells, textures and shape fizzles away in strands of codes and numbers, devoid of actual existence and presence.

I retract my hand and find it to be intact, disappointingly lacking in any kind of mutation extraterrestrial, corporal or otherwise.  This all just is and it seems as insignificant as the moment I encountered it but in its attempt to blend itself into the construct of my reality it gives away its presence. If this doesn’t make sense now it will later.

Then I stepped into the obsidian pool within a melangerie of what can only be a personal reflection of what reality and life might indeed be: A process of fragmented Unity, a crack in the fabric of the Perfect, like a fault in a flawless diamond, looking into it you must define the imperfection to realise that it exists in a perfect state.

There is nothing else there but the all, fragmented, the entirety of life a result of a mistake, but absolutely consummately excellent in its integrity, ubiquitous in its nature, the same for every single thing, person or idea that ever happened. It all Is with no ‘because’. A causeless state of singularity experiencing itself within each of us.

Who is writing this shit anyway? Sometimes I read back the things I have documented and question their origin but all these concepts, all these ideas and notions are eating me up inside to the point of eruption.

The Black Sun, the Singularity, the Point of Convergence, a place in my head that I prod at more and more as Death roams the streets.  A Black Hole walking, consuming everything, families, lives, loves and children; the Horsemen ride as their star rises