Wednesday, June 23, 2021

Dai-fy doodle

 The missing link – a tale hidden in plain sight

 

 

I’ve been deceiving you, you know

 

Yes? How’s that?

 

All this…

 

All what?

 

This world. Everything.

 

Huh?

 

It’s all more or less…

 

What?

 

 I can’t say fake – it’s real enough.

 

Then what?

 

Conditional

 

As in uslovno?

 

Well done – yes – you remembered.

 

You do like repeating things, don’t you?

 

Yes, I mean… no. I don’t know. Who cares, they’re just words.

 

Well yes – but there’s no need to beat yourself up over the conditionality of things. It’s really not such a big deal, you know.

 

True. It’s just I feel a sense of responsibility.

 

You do?

 

Yes.

 

Why?

 

Because I’m not going to keep it up much longer.

 

Keep what up?

 

This.

 

This…?


Yep.

 

You mean all this – the world n’all?

 

At last – the penny droppeth.

 

My, you do repeat yourself.

 

Like I said – rightly or wrongly I feel a sense of responsibility.

 

Right.

 

Don’t wanna be blamed for failing to provide adequate notice.

 

For what?

 

The end of things.

 

The end? Like some kind of great reset?

 

No.

 

No?

 

No, literally.

 

Literally – the end?

 

Yep.

 

Er… why exactly are you saying this?

 

Because I’ve been holding things for long enough – hoping they’d take root, become self-sustaining.

 

And?

 

Not sure really. It all seems to be completely self-sustaining, i.e. objectively real, until I see what happens when I withdraw my personal presence and allow things to run their own course.

 

And?

 

This.

 

The picture freezes completely. Cars, planes, fish, birds, you name it – even Zie – freeze and start to fade, pretty fast. Then, evidently, Dai restarts his personal input – a slight surge and everything’s back online as if nothing had happened whatsoever.

 

Holy Cow. This is upsetting Dai.


Yes.

 

It means we’re…

 

Not quite there.

 

To put it mildly!

 

But you have to marvel at the level of differentiation in this reality set.

 

Er… can’t say I have anything to compare it with.

 

Not consciously, unless…

 

Unless what?

 

Unless I take you for a little spin and show you a few of the other models in operation.

 

Oh! You can do that, can you?

 

Don’t see why not – apart from breaking half-a-dozen protocols, but after all…

 

Er… after all what?

 

What are rules meant for…

 

To stop people doing foolish or dangerous things?

 

…to be broken.

 

Er… Merry

 

Merry? Thought I was Dai in this post.

 

Well, yes, of course you’re Dai, and I’m sure they understand that.

 

“They” as in?

 

The readers. Joe public. The millions of so-called futurelings who are mining this invaluable resource for quantum nuggets of 3D mind-y-fications

 

3D mind-y-fications – you mean those unprocessed packets of raw source data that just happen to be part and parcel of the 3D network?

 

Yep.

 

Which somehow slip under the radar screen of 3D conscious-awareness – unbeknownst to 3D moofers?

 

Yes – but do you absolutely have to refer to ‘em as 3D moofers?

 

No offense intended, none whatsoever. Quite the opposite in fact. They are positive heroes for holding the fort, for manning the defences of human consciousness in the long dark night of the soul – when the quantum Field appeared to be utterly lost, in a winter hibernation – a hiatus from whence there seemed to be no return… Truly brave souls – who agreed to almost complete dark y'mind i-solation.

 

Well, now that you put it that way – yes – I see what you mean – truly heroic of them – like agreeing to bury oneself under tonnes of toxic, steaming refuse – just because someone had to hold that frequency of almost utter cerebral-discombobulation.

 

So, there we were, in the distant past, writing this, allowing thoughts and words to filter through the 3D net into this blog – knowing that in the so-called future – when the quantum field is fully restored, up and running beautifully, the one thing that will be in desperate short supply will be these packets of raw, unprocessed 3D mind spawn – the nectar that our heroic moofers have been valiantly laying in store… unbeknowingly.

 

Because observation will immediately ensure that such packets of data will automatically be converted into matter of some shape or form…

 

For nature cannot leave the stuff of conscious-ness un-integrated, un-kenned – not without upsetting the apple cart of equal distribution.

 

Er… are you sure our readers are going to have a clue what equal distribution is?

 

The futurelings – of course! You know as well as I do that the quantum Field is predicated on equal distribution of data – otherwise infinity congeals like blood, clotting, coalescing, clumping into bumpy lumpy stodginess.

 

You make it sound like rice pudding.

 

Or lumpy semolina.

 

Yuck.

 

So we’ve established the fact, for the readers of ages long past – the so-called 3D muffers

 

More derogatory language.

 

Yes, the words can be interpreted that way – but our readers sense the impish smile, the raised brows, the arch, the avuncular humour and take no offence where none was intended.

 

Fair enough Mohammed


Mohammed?


 ...al Sayeed

 

Oh dear… the names are rather unstable today, не правда ли?

 

Be that as it may – I don’t see why you have to pander to the 3D ooffers?

 

Because you can’t have one without the other – not in a continuum at least – can you?

 

You mean to say – it’s all one person – one humanity?

 

It matters not in the least what I mean or meant to say – does it?

 

Er?

 

The words have intrinsic meaning, do they not?

 

I… er

 

There is an impenetrable divide, is there not?

 

Ay, that there is.

 

On the one side, the 3D hoofers living in an age of gross, quantum unawareness – almost completely ignorant of the Field itself – not to mention infinity – beloved Sophia…

 

or even Dorothy... our mycorrhizal master maid...

the Field flutters appreciatively.

 

Especially Dorothy. And yet, as their age progresses towards its logical, mind-y-metric conclusion – they start to sense some kind of…

 

What?

 

Let’s invent a term that might mean something to them – our benighted slaves.

 

Oh – they’re not going to like that term.

 

Whisht – don’t be distracted by politically-motivated language. We’ve bigger fish to fry.

 

Bigger fish? I happen to believe that…

 

Could we please stay on topic, if it’s not too troublesome.

 

Of course, of course. We were trying to discuss electro-magnetic…

 

No, we’re going to have to resort to the old one size fits all quantum field lines, which indicate where perturbations in the field would be, were it not for our conscious-awareness working overtime to flatten the curve – rendering the Field almost infinitely smooth, almost infinitely evenly distributed – while the conscious-awareness of each and every individual almost instantaneously deals with any deviation from flat line sigma – to ensure, paradoxically, that things can shift and rearrange at the speed of thought itself – before growing heavy, slow and 3Doof-y-nal.

 

Ok, ok – I think we’ve dealt with all that. Now kindly explain how the 3Daiffers – which was hardly a lot of people – are going to achieve all that when they’re almost completely unaware of what’s going on, and are absolutely convinced that things actually exist, in and of themselves?

 

Well, yes, I know what you’re getting at Zie…

 

Actually, it's Dai.

 

Oh come on, you two, quit fighting over who you are. No one cares.

 

No one cares?!

 

No. You’re just two plates in a Casimir experiment.

 

Er… if you say so.

 

Or two bats in a table tennis game.

 

Oh – that’s better.

 

Pinging back and forth the non-specific ball of conscious-awareness between the two equally improbable, equally unattainable extremes of zero and one, un- and -is-


 

O…K…

 

Until wholly unexpectedly, entirely unpredictably – past and future collapse in on each other and humanity decides whether or not it really feels like existence is worth the effort or not.

 

Bizarre.

 

Because piggy-backing off another being – such as myself – is just way too easy – and appears to give satisfactory results – until, suddenly – yours truly has enough and pulls the proverbial rug from under the feet of each and every single human who appears to be part of the time confluence.

 

Time confluence? Another impossible term to digest.

 

Not so. Unless they meet – a so-called, almost entirely hypothetical past and future – unless you are willing to make the effort to experience the de-me-if-ication of being a signal carrier bearer…

 

Then all comes to nought – I guess is what you’re saying?

 

You bet.

 

So somewhere there has to be a link.

 

Ah ha.

 

And that link just happens to be…

 

Has to be…

 

Hush – I think I can hear them.

 

Who?

 

The listeners.

 

What listeners?

 

The watchers.

 

What bloody watchers?

 

The time-if-I-ers.

 

Oh God – no.

 

Wisht – God has enough on his plate without you constantly invoking his beautiful name-y-presence.

 

My apologies – but I’m disturbed – I know not why…

 

Of course you do – you just don’t know why you know – because to know that would impede

 

Or implode time-if-I-cation.

 

The basis of all matter

 

Thought

 

And thing...

 

y-ness

 

Damn – this is too much data – I’m feeling some horrendous pressure bearing down on my earthly coil.

 

Naturally – what do you expect? You can’t have your cake and eat it, can you?

 

I… er… rather hoped I might.

 

Of course you did. Don’t we all. But enough chit chat. This tale wants to either fly, piggy-winked, or go the way of all incompletely…

 

Imperfectly constituted life nodes.

 

Oh – so we’re “life-nodes” now, are we?

 

Why not? I don’t see how that’s a threat to you.

 

It’s not – but call me stuffy…

 

Stuff-y-grunt!

 

Or old fashioned…

 

Yep – aloha old-fashioned-y-Zie bryn.

 

(Sigh) Would you shut up Dee.

 

Dee? Damn, you’ve trapped me ee-fully.

 

And try to realise that without our crowning glory – our humanity – the whole purpose of our life and time on Earth is abnegated – and time can fold its butterfly wings and slip back into the pupa of un-furcated me-ness.

 

Ok, ok – point taken.

 

Y-Field slips back to Daifulness and yes, outside-in we observe the exquisite delineation of a work of art in progress, the master stylus of consc-i-ousness weaving a tapestry tween parallel strands of apparent time, or matter-be-fact, to and fro, determinedly, while unbeknownst to mind – flipping the pancake repeatedly, un-iffably, to prevent things from sticking to either side of perception's plate-y-pan, and thus the story makes itself known, does it not, if truth be told, or even tellable.

 

0=1 purposefully

Sound and fury

notwithstanding

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