Algernon's face

You mean it’s a waste of time writing it down?

Yep.

But how else are we going to learn?

How else? You seem to think writing’s the only way to connect with others.

It’s the only way I understand.

Is that so?

And it’s the only way I can make a living.

Make a living? Is that what you call this?

Well, I make something, don’t I.

…

It’s not exactly mainstream.

…

A niche market’s how I think of it.

…

Well, what exactly are you proposing? I’d like to know how it could be an improvement on the current situation.

I’d like to know how it could be worse.

So far I’m just hearing snide comments and nothing constructive. I’m not proud of my poverty, you know, but it doesn’t really bother me. I ask for little – just as long as I can keep working on the Field.

How noble – but this nobility of yours conceals an intellectual snobbery, doesn’t it – which perversely grows stronger the greater the hardships you endure.

I don’t look down on anyone.

But you see yourself at the top of a high pyramid of academic endeavour – above even the scientists and Greek philosophers – for you are mapping reality – is that not so? The pursuit of fundamental knowledge.

Someone has to do it.

Yes, but how can they do it if they’re forever desperate to publish something – an official record of things learnt, things discovered?

I fail to see what you have against me sharing my findings with other scientists in the field.

You fail to see? Makes sense – perfect sense. How could you possibly see the wood from the trees, Algernon.

Algernon? Is that what you call me?

It’ll do as well as any other name. It’s your name for today’s discussion.

Ha.

So, publishing your findings – how does that affect the scientific process? Have you given that any thought?

I don’t consider it significant.

Do you not?

No. It’s just an update. Most the thought and research happens on the side, away from the written word.

…

And then I just make my report.

…

Look – I need the discipline of putting pen to paper, so to speak. I can’t just meditate or twiddle my thumbs and keep things moving forwards in isolation. I need an audience. I need to put out words to see how the Field responds. I  don’t see what’s wrong with that.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The Field’s never going to open up fully, it’s never going to reveal its secrets if you’re forever running off to write reports, posing for publicity rather than connecting directly through the Field itself to all men and women willing to hear, to feel, to know what’s happening.

But how can they?

What?

Hear?

How can they not, if the Field’s for real, if you’re willing to put your life where your mouth is...

My life?

How else? To interface, no less. It ain’t a Sunday stroll in the park, is it? It’s all or nought. Otherwise you’re just playing around, observing without taking the plunge, without commitment.

Er... not sure I like the idea of throwing myself at the mercy of an utterly abstract, utterly impersonal field, with nothing in reserve, no plan b to fall back on, nothing...

Of course you don’t. Why should you?

Uh?

You’re not doing this because you like it, are you.

I thought...

You doing it because it’s the only viable, meaningful alternative, if we can even call it that.

But...

Suppose you fail to interface, standing on the pool’s edge, dithering uncertainly...

Well?

See the time fuse? It’s burning down towards you, isn’t it? You do see, don’t you.

Well, kinda.

And observe the carefully concealed wires and zero-one suppressors around the sim-suit reality your 3D amounts to.

Oh, that’s what they are.

You bet. They give you a good enough approximation of reality, but never a clear zero or one, as either would overload the system and collapse the virtualisation of the Field.

Shit, you’re right.

Zero and one – these ain’t just numbers bro.

No?

Hell no, they go all the way.

All the way where exactly.

Where do you think?

I really don’t know.

Wherever your precious 3D numbers, concepts and so-called statements of fact fail to go.

Which is – if you don’t mind me asking?

Ask all you like – the answer is utterly meaningless unless or until you decide to take the plunge – to engage infinity drive

er…

to interface.

I think you’re being somewhat dogmatic about this.

Yes.

Maybe you could try my limited intelligence – I might possibly be able to grasp whatever it is you’re referring to.

Of course you’d be able to grasp whatever it were – were it whatever, in any size, shape or form.

But it has to be something, doesn’t it, otherwise how would you be able to know what you’re talking about.

I don’t.

You don’t?

No, not in the slightest.

Then… this is all your idea of a joke?

How on earth can you explain or translate into words what simply does not, cannot have anything like a beginning or end – which emerges from the infinite, and though seemingly finite, when push comes to shove, is indistinguishable from the Field from which it originates – under close scrutiny revealing nothing more than zeros or ones, zero or one, zero-one, zero if one be not, one if zero is, words for fools, numbers for blithering idiots, concepts and ideas galore, without beginning or end revealing nothing more than the inner walls of the mind that grapples valiantly with everything but infinity, everything but the simple truth it cannot encompass – the Field it has to ignore, avoid, spurn or else lose all traction, lose all reference points, lose all sense of what is and what is not – without which it can do naught

So there be dragons – the edge of the world – you’re saying – is the edge of mind – beyond which we can not go without embracing your precious, uncontainable, apparently suicidal Field.

Suicidal? Your fuse is burning down even as we talk. If you miss the opportunity to re-engage – scratching around instead in the cultural mud of material reality – what can you hope to achieve – other than stimulating endless introspective discourse on whether things are actually what they seem – rather than diving in and zero-one-ing so-called things, in other words – accessing the isness of be – rather than twiddling nobs on a mock-up of reality.

Well, talk about bias – you’re so ready to disparage 3D reality – as if it amounts to naught, as if seven billion people are just place keepers in a game of musical chairs – but there’s more to life – infinitely more than your overweening quest for fundamental truth or knowledge – your obsession with escaping into a purer or grander domain than the flawed and fallible human condition – in which yes, we’re all going to die, and no, we don’t have many answers, but where the soul can, in fact, triumph against adversity, and love, whatever that might be, can transcend all our material limitations.

Beautiful. I couldn’t fail to agree with what you so eloquently said.

Then how do you justify your obsession with busting the matrix and interfacing this quantum Field?

Sooner or later a Bilbo Baggins has to quit the Shire and head off in search of treasure.

Why? How can you be so sure?

We are, like it or not, beings of story – living masters of myth, desperately trying to pretend we’re just the mask we wear, and not that which lies behind the mask.

Well, what if behind the mask there’s just an ordinary guy leading an ordinary life in an ordinary world – period? What does that have to do with storymaking?

What if zero equals one? The fact, the mere fact that you yearn for containment and ordinariness indicates there’s another aspect hidden within, hidden from sight, carefully concealed, doing all it can to keep the boat of life from rocking – and there’s no reason whatsoever for you to fight it, unless, that is, your containment field starts to crumble and you’re suddenly, inexplicably, inextricably caught up in a story you’ve done everything possible to avoid – in which case – you’ll either embrace and interface, or…

Or what?

Or deny your very basis – your unity with the great all that is – the Field which knoweth not matter, nor time, nor space or things therein.

Then what?

Yarn.

Yarn? You’re kidding, right?

Nope.

Yarn – as in woollen thread.

That’s right – or plot – or spinning a tale – for ultimately – we are bobbins or shuttlecocks – weaving the fabric of indeterminacy into a version of reality which may or may not sustain or support life.

And by what criteria can we tell whether or not it will support life?

Depending on whether the tale you spin is one of beauty, empowering and meaningful – if it deals with the all that is – as opposed to a narrow, insignificant subset of scattered, soulless things.

So all the world’s a stage – you’re echoing.

Absolutely.

And we are merely players, our ages being seven.

For what it’s worth. Seven will suffice. That is for sure.

Or nine?

Nine will do.

Or two?

Likewise. If you haven’t yet grasped zero and one – then what difference does it make what numbers you ostentatiously parade around the corridors of mind and matter – all are variations on a theme – all are essentially one and the same, are they not?

I… know not. I assumed they were different.

Yes, as was intended.

I assumed they mattered – greatly.

And those assumptions were designed to get you here.

Here? Where exactly is here?

To the gates of story – where narrative takes over and you allow yourself to myth-make once more – when you feel so-called death, disease or determinacy taking you beyond, back to the prime feed, the flow we experience as life itself – bubbling up from deep, deep within.

Why in God’s name would I or anyone knowingly or willingly want to have anything to do with all this bottomless, esoteric madness. I’d sooner die.

Precisely – which is how it’s generally perceived – unless the character transcends his or her limited awareness bounds.

In which case?

In which case his death is not perceived as such.

Meaning – he doesn’t die?

Meaning – death is only meaningful from the 3D perspective – so who’s to say what really occurs when we go beyond reality per se – engaging infinity drive – interfacing zero-one-ineffably. The only way you’d know…

Let me guess…

Correct.

is by experiencing it – at which point you transcend the world – that reality which was nothing more than a temporary boundary – a womb if you like – awaking into

a greater version of is than what you could hitherto envisage

until you were willing to spread your wings

and engage the full spectrum

interface

amen