doomsday

Merry, I can't understand why you refuse to...

 

Beep beep beep beep

 

Huh? Where’d he go?

 

Hi Zie!

 

Er, hi. Do i know you?

 

Excellent question. Does anyone know anyone?

 

I mean, have I met you before?

 

In this particular tier of the wedding cake, no, but...

 

We’re best buddies in other tiers?

 

You could say... best buddies, mortal enemies, bitter rivals or casual acquaintances – much of a much really.

 

Well that’s a bit much if you ask me.

 

Yes, but i don’t dear Zie. No disrespect but the last thing i’d do is ask you as long as you're tier-locked.

 

Ah.

 

You’d have no way of knowing what you actually know, still less what you actually think, being tier-locked.

And you’re er... not?

 

Tier-locked?

 

Yes.

 

As you see.

 

But that's just the thing... sorry, I don't seem to know your name... I don't see any difference between you and anyone else.

 

Right. Well, i think it's time you actually made a bit of an effort. I'm not here to namby-pamby you.

 

Er...

 

Start by removing that cheap, tasteless veneer of smug complacency.

 

I beg your pardon! There's no need to be rude.

 

As long as you’re making the ridiculous assumption that you are actually you, and that your perception of reality is comprehensive you ain’t gonna learn diddly squat.

 

I’ll tell you what – you certainly have Merry’s offensively direct way of talking. I expect you take pleasure in being abusive.

 

I see – it’s like that is it?

 

Like what?

 

Marshall, we ain't getting anywhere with this tyke – bring in the heavy guns.

 

Marshall? Who the hell’s...

 

Zie is unable to see any weaponry, but he distinctly hears what sounds like tanks rattling towards him. Then Boom! They open fire.

 

Hey, what's going on?

 

Citadel... We’re taking it out.

 

Citadel? What bloody citadel?

 

The one you built for your precious ego. Pretty good job, actually. Fairly impregnable, but then again, you had no idea...

 

No idea what?

 

Of the ordinance we have at our disposal.

 

You mean you’re going to destroy my citadel?

 

No choice.

 

Boom! What do you mean? Would you quit bombing me, goddammit.

 

Beep! Watch the language Zie.

 

Watch the Beep!ing language Boom! when I'm under hostile fire?!

 

Not you, dummy, your citadel.

 

Well if it's mine then who gave you the right to attack it?

 

That's what we do. That's our job.

 

What – demolition contractors?

 

You don't get it Zie, do you? Here look at this...

 

What is it Sven?

 

Oh, you've remembered have you? Shiver me timbers, nothing like a little friendly cannon fire to refresh the memory.

 

Friendly? You’re dimension-busting macrophages.

 

This document is your articles of association.

 

My what?

 

Defining what is and isn’t fair play, as in legit, as regards the cut-off point and interactions between different tiers or dimensions of your wedding cake. Is that or is that not your signature?

 

No, it’s not mine. Ow! Ow! Stop it.

 

It's not me. You’re untruthing. It hurts. Karmic kickback.

 

But i never sign my name that way. Ow! Ow! Henry, stop it.

 

You remembered another, well done. Anyway, this is a bit like the gom jabbar.

 

The what? Ow!

 

The pain will increase until you accept and face what is, rather than assuming your fanciful construct is real-ity itself.

 

Oh, so you’re just going to torture me until I accept your lies?

 

Me? No, why would I bother. I'll let you torture yourself – far more effective – nothing beats instant feedback.

 

But I don't wish to torture myself.

 

Very sensible of you. Now look at chapter 4 section 3B of your articles of association and you'll see it all clearly in black and white.

 

I can't believe this is happening to me. Chapter 4 section 3B, let's see... blahdy blahdy blah – “until the predetermined time when the show commences, at which point all constructs have to stand or fail on their own merits, as the bottom line is re-evaluated, tested and proven.” What on earth is this gobbledygook meant to mean?

 

It means your time is up. Everything you have been doing up till this point has been pre-show preparations, an attempt to establish a working model of true reality. Jockeying for position. Now whatever you have constructed stands or fails on its own merits, including your me-self-construct, your worldview and your ideas about who or what you really are. Is that or is that not your signature?

 

Okay, okay it’s mine, happy now?

 

Couldn't care less, really. Boom! There goes the outer wall of your citadel. Pretty good construction in my humble opinion.

 

Good? It was supposed to survive doomsday.

 

Well, what do you expect? With a limited knowledge of creation itself, the bedrock of reality, your defences are were always going to have certain critical weaknesses, weren't they?

 

That was steel reinforced diamond granite.

 

Impressive, like i said, but look at the atoms.

 

Huh?

 

They weren’t exactly happy with their alignment, were they?

 

I beg your pardon... the atoms?

 

Well, if you'd used sacred geometry, a star fort for example, then they’d have held together through thick and thin because they’d have been vibrating with creation itself.

 

But...

 

Yes, i know the material strength of your design was greater by a factor of three, but in the end gross material strength is not the only important consideration, is it, not when you bear in mind that all matter is only marginally material.

 

Huh?

 

Look what happens to the rest of your edifice when Marshall starts zapping it with a blend of time and quantum indeterminacy rays. Amazing the way so-called atoms start flipping polarity and calling into question whether things are ever more than a temporary denial of awesome all-fulness.

 

Zie watches in astonishment as his citadel flashes on and off like a fluorescent lightbulb in need of replacement. With each flash the colour and duration alter slightly until…

 

Nice job Marshall! A cactus is all that remains. Prickly, but you know what, rather attractive with a few flowers in the process of blooming.

 

There you go Zie, now we've got to the real-ity behind all those best-laid plans of mice and men.

 

Zie looks somewhat crestfallen. That citadel had been a huge undertaking – a labour of love – literally, a monumental investment of deep energies – a vast repository of me-be-me-ness, but at the same time he’s feeling strangely liberated now that the old thing is no more. It had been powerful, for sure, but power at what price – built out of fear, and built in a way that naturally mirrored his own imperfections, a spikiness. Now that it’s gone – hey Doom...

 

Yeah?

 

I see your field.

 

Yeah.

 

How come?

 

A colossal amount of energy that was going into maintaining that citadel has now been liberated, hasn't it?

 

Yes. I feel so much lighter.

 

And now that you're no longer invested so heavily in a 3D materially exclusive version of reality you can sense the other dimensions, the other its and other mes without much trouble, can't you?

 

Incredible! It feels...

 

Yes. The way it's meant to. Now, are you ready to test the field?

 

Yeah, why not.

 

Lights, camera, action...

 

Zie finds himself on stage in the Curtain theatre, London 1597 “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? Tis the East, and Juliet is the sun.” The words flow effortlessly. Why wouldn’t they? They’re just feelings that accompany the underlying picture-board of a reality experienced is-fully – story and poesy competing naturally with any number of rational thoughts and alternative potentialities – meeting here – in the living moment – the effortless now, in which i knows not what – in which I fields the Field – happily?

 

Gaily

 

Merrily?

 

Dramatically

 

Disinterestedly?

 

Verily

 

Yea – verily 

 

 

0=1

is it not