red returns emphatically

 

Had enough, have you?

 

B b b b b

 

Can't take any more?

 

B b b b b

 

Thought you could handle it, didn't you?

 

I

 

Well, what have you got to say for yourself?

 

I don't get it.

 

You don’t get it? Of course you don't get it. Who do you think you are? Mr Exceptional? Mr I can do what no man what can do. That it?

 

I don't think I'm exceptional.

 

Then stay in your box and quit playing at being God.

 

B b b b b

 

Pathetic specimen.

 

Hey, what's got into you Merry?

 

Merry is it? That powder nosed prancing fool.

 

Oh, then who are you?

 

Who do you think?

 

I...

 

You don't know. Pathetic, like I said.

 

So you're just going to harangue me are you? Is that your professional function or personal preference?

 

Very droll.

 

Well?

 

Well what?

 

Aren't you going to introduce yourself?

 

Introduce myself?

 

Yes, that's correct.

 

To you?

 

My, you’re sharp, aren't you.

 

I’m not in the habit of introducing myself.

 

Is that so? Got something to hide have you?

 

I...

 

There we are. Not so big now, are we?

 

I...

 

Thought it was ok to yell at me, didn't you, but can’t even introduce yourself. Pathetic.

 

Oh, how the worm hath turned.

 

But listen, it’s ok. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. I understand that you're perhaps a little shy. Perhaps you could tell me a story instead.

 

A story.

 

Yes. About yourself.

 

About me?

 

Or anything you like really.

 

I...

 

I could help you get started.

 

Could you?

 

Absolutely. Like this... Once upon a time there was a socially dysfunctional entity called Tharn the destroyer of dandelions...

 

Dandelions? Couldn't that be planets, for example, or perhaps interdimensional corporations?

 

It could be if that’s the story you want to tell. It's entirely up to you.

 

No, you’d better continue with it. I'm not feeling terribly confident at the moment.

 

Ok. And this Tharn was utterly ruthless, utterly...

 

What? Why did you stop?

 

Well it's a bit confusing really.

 

In what way?

 

Well, I was about to give a complete list of all the terrible things he had done and why he was so greatly feared when suddenly I saw this squirrel.

 

No! You didn’t! Tell me you didn't see a squirrel, for God’s sake.

 

For God’s sake? I can hardly lie, can I. I was just telling you what prevented me from continuing with the dire and dreadful tale of Tharn the avenger, Tharn the destroyer of dandelions.

 

I thought we'd agreed that they were going to be planets.

 

Not really, Tuth, that’s what you...

 

Tuth? You can't use that. I never told you my name.

 

No, but then again, you didn't need to, did you.

 

I don't understand.

 

All will be revealed if and when.

 

Oh for crying out loud. Who told you? Who? Was it Morgan?

 

Nope.

 

James?

 

Nope.

 

Micklethwaite?

 

Who?

 

Donald?

 

Er...

 

You see, Sin, two can play at this game.

 

Sin? That's not my name.

 

Ha ha, fell for the oldest ruse in the book.

 

No, you didn't just get me to reveal my secret identity, the master password, did you?

 

No. That would merely give me access to all your accounts.

 

Then what?

 

So little. Think big.

 

The entire universe?

 

Naturally.

 

You've managed to access the infinity code? But how? Not even I know that!

 

Because you are that. And now all is revealed.

 

All?

 

All.

 

Are you sure you're not overlooking one minor yet vitally important fact?

 

Like what?

 

The quantum field, as you all know, cannot be taught in regular awareness as regular awareness pertains to 3D reality, so your receptors cannot evade the powerful pull and rigid boundary posts of that system. We thus Trojan-horse awareness via “story”, lulling it into a receptive mode of susceptibility. Think of it as hypnosis without the quackery. Here in story in another aspect of consciousness, closer to dream awareness, we’re free to proceed unhindered by regular rationality.

 

...

 

No, it’s not that regular rationality is in any way deficient, but that it is bound up within the construct which it cannot circumvent. We therefore do not attempt to do so as that would be a thankless exercise in futility.

 

You may have noticed the extent to which people are immersed in a world of theatre, movies and literature. You probably have wondered why we spend so much of our time in a world of pure fiction. But if you take your thoughts one step further you would know that even our rational, systemic structures such as church and state, corporations, or money itself are equally fictitious: ideas built upon ideas integrated into a web of interconnected “tessles”. The tessle has to be seen from outside 3D reality to fully comprehend the ingenuity, the fragility and the slipperiness of those very structures taken for granted upon which the entire 3D edifice rests. A house of cards would be an unassailable castle by comparison. What, you might ask, protects these tessles from immediate dissipation or destruction? Do you imagine they are sticky like glue, or strong structurally? You do, don’t you. It can’t all be held together by nothing more than faith in a compelling narrative, surely? Well, have I got news for you! Were you able to step outside 3D reality and view those tessles externally, you’d probably be hit by an overpowering sense of vertigo – that you’re perched atop a vast edifice held together by a special sort of nothing. Merely the fact that few or none in 3D reality has or can see them. Period. Once they are perceived they lose their power, or rather, their hold over our power, and crash! the whole thing implodes. They cannot endure discovery for they are shadow forms that cannot bear the light of awareness.

 

Are they conscious entities?

 

If the question itself arises then quantum logic dictates that in some sense, in some aspect of reality they must indeed be conscious or sentient, but such is the nature of quantum estology. To be is to be, as we say, neither more nor less, and thus it is, thus I am, ith it not so? A question cannot arise without cause – though that cause may well be on the other side of Is, in other, as we say.

 

If you find yourself scratching your head wondering what on Earth this might mean, pause a moment in uffish thought, or else iffish thought, and face the cause of your discomfort, the cause of your disquiet. Far be it for me to seek to rob you of your truth quest, your own personal struggle with uffishness or iffishness, for are you not, too, astraddle the waters, the wild horse’s back of infinity. To tell you “All is well”, that there is “nothing to fear” would be reckless irresponsibility. There is every reason to fear the vast incomprehensibility threatening to erupt from your deep sub-consciousness should you fail to pass the test of sobriety and sense, should you treat the knowledge and mystery concealed within your isness with familiarity and disrespect, should you fail to recognise the immensity of the journey you are on, you are part of, reconnecting, restoring in-fin-ity to its rightful place, whatever that might be.

 

As you can imagine, those tessles do not plan to go gently into the night. They enjoy their access to your consciousness, to your conscious-awareness, your mind-y me, if you'll permit the far from perfect descriptor. Yes, a whole new terminology infinitely more refined is being rediscovered as we swing further into the cycle of Aquarian Field awareness that is now coming, a trickle no more, soon to be a mighty river in spate. Yes, a whole new science with all its ever more refined terminology is inevitable.  Accept it. Understand it is both a blessing and a curse, for then we go from being nomadic yurt dwellers, close to the land and sense of temporariness to being set and settled in what the Field now is. “Enjoy each season equally” – we are advised, by the wisdom of the timeless ones. So now in the early spring of the quantum cycle, we use terms and labels haphazardly, like spelling in Shakespeare’s day. A sudden influx or emergence of new words and ideas, then counter words, counter ideas, as awareness grows and reality morphs into something quite different, unrecognisable from the previous perspective – as the isness moulds itself around the storylines that we are in the process of now creating, or perhaps unearthing from cold quantum storage.

 

Be that as it may, the image of tessles enjoying, coveting their access to the rich pastures of your mind-y me is disturbing, to say the least, is it not, and yet be not afraid, for there are maxims for every gaping vulnerability, are there not? So too here, with tessles appearing to be feeding on our blind faith that things are just things, and not in fact parasitic or predatory, we call to mind the wisdom of Uf – formerly written Ugh, as in enough, or to be more explicit, the maxim “as I feed, so am i fed”. Yes indeed, we are to a great extent, literally, food for thought, and yet, as always, that is only to the extent that we fail to see, sense or accept the isness of be, that no one or no thing ever truly bound us in this organisational system, that we are free to shift frequencies if and when the need arises, thus enabling us to turn the tables on our would-be captors, our parasitic masters. “Fear not, for fear that fear would diminish your ability to move, locking you in a rigidity of victimhood,” as we are wont to do, as we are wont to be. Or perhaps the maxim “Fear fruitfully” we are told, are we not, for fear is a necessary component of a healthy state of conscious-awareness, is it not? Be it not?

 

So where are we in all this?

 

Am i happy to be saying this? To be flying under the radar of regular consciousness, caught up in the multiple obstacles and air defences of countless tessles? No-yes. No, I'm not. Yes, I is. Capisce? As soon as the cat of in-fin-ity is let out of the quantum bag, how can I any longer say with any degree of certainty who or what I am or is, or what I think or thinks. Even grammar, the first person, the third person comes under massive strain for the I is not the me it hitherto seemed to be, is it? Traction – we would seem to lose all traction once the cat is out of the bag, and yet it is not so, for this is a world entwined by story itself, no less than stories, like a rope or a robe, and so in-fin-ity still displays a remarkable reluctance to deliver the chaos we imagine it might, as the tessles implode or, perhaps evolve, to be replaced by twinnles – which neither require time nor space to grid themselves. A whole new world emerges. A world of frequency truth. Frequency discovery. Frequency realities – in which frequencies, like snakes or threads are able to weave in and out or story-ness, enabling ever more responsive tales, musics or tropes – enabling the conscious awareness of worlds within worlds, or beyond worlds to manifest and bear fruit, enabling the other we ignored, suppressed and denied to once again take its rightful place as the prime force, the mover of what would otherwise be heavy, oppressive matter.

 

Talking about oppressive matter – don’t you think you’ve done enough?

 

Er?

 

Trying to explain things to them…

 

But someone’s got to…

 

Nonsense. You’re always veering off thread, into the turgid waters of incomprehensibility.

 

But…

 

No one cares. Sure – we’d like to know a bit about how things can be entities – how the underpinnings of matter are in fact, in some way, living, sentient beings from the other side of Is – which use matter to capture our attention and control us in order to extract all they can from our life force – that’s ok.

 

It’s ok, is it? Thanks a lot for the concession.

 

But then you start trying to make it into some kind of new science. It won’t wash. It sucks.

 

Ok, point taken. It sucks. I agree. But what about the story?

 

Precisely.

 

It’s been sucked dry by all the countless attempts to retell it.

 

Sucked dry? It’s alive and vibrant – it’s just not under yours or anyone else’s control.

 

You’re telling me.

 

It’s living its own life, as indeed it should.

 

 

We don't want you red.

 

We know what you bring.

 

Chaos.

 

Death.

 

Anarchy.

 

Don't you think chaos and anarchy are essentially the same? You could have said – chaos, death and er... How about totally wild creativity?

 

We hear you not.

 

Not.

 

Not.

 

What is this, the three weird sisters? “We hear you not.” Give me a break! Of course you do. You're hanging on every word that I utter.

 

Do not.

 

Do.

 

Do not.

 

You see? It's not your fault, you can hardly help it. I'm red, or what those twinky dinky scientists call red shift in the mistaken belief that they can use me to determine the size and age of the universe.

 

Nonsense.

 

Garbage.

 

Tripe.

 

Tripe? Anyway, I'm just the messenger, you know that but you'll never admit it.

 

Well?

 

Get on with it.

 

Spill the beans.

 

You mean to say you're actually ready to hear what i have to say? I’m... touched. Perhaps i underestimated you.

 

Will you never

 

quit

 

jabbering?

 

Ok. I come in peace.

 

With a Vogon construction fleet.

 

In peace, to peacefully declare “nothing matters”, end of transmission.

 

Thank you red, transmission gratefully received.

 

Awesome. Now that we've got the business of planetary annihilation out of the way, so deftly, perhaps we could sit down with a cup of tea and discuss...

 

Sorry red.

 

Out of the question.

 

Next time perhaps.

 

Oh well, it was worth a try. I think I'll go and see what Morgan’s up to.

 

Why don’t you!

 

Great idea!

 

I'm sure she'll be delighted.

 

Red saunters off in search of Morgan. Easier said than done but red’s never one to worry about fearful odds. Somehow everything seems to happen inexplicably in the nick of time, as it does today, 14 minutes and 53 seconds subsequent to the above conversation.

 

Meanwhile, if you'd hit the green button, that one, there, no, not the red one for crying out loud. Yes, that's correct, yes, the green one. (Bumbling idiot!)

 

We find ourselves transported to the back of beyond, in the literal sense, otherwise known as “other”.

 

So there's this frightful cult. They’re engaged in a massive experiment, I kid you not, to see whether they can transition living beings into... Yes, you've guessed it, matter.

 

It’s a kind of entropy experiment.

 

“If we can transition into matter we’ll be as good as immortal,” they tell themselves, and honestly, they seem to believe it, don't ask me why.

 

The fact that matter in the form of computer chips or circuitry doesn’t seem to be terribly lively seems to have been strangely overlooked. Like i said, it's a cult, so they're caught up in their weird, impenetrable logic.

 

So here we are, at the dawn of a new age, awaiting the new infinity chip that’s going to deliver the transition to a new age of man, no longer trapped in his, her body. They don't seem to have a lot of love for their body which appears to have a shelf life of sixty or seventy years, eighty or ninety for those who take the trouble, but what they ask is ninety years? An indiscernible pimple on the nose of Mother Time.

 

They're not only into er... transhumanism they call it. They're into all kinds of other weird stuff like changing their sex mechanically.

 

Mechanically?

 

Yes green, mechanically.. You heard me.

 

But that's barbaric.

 

Yes.

 

Why would they want to do that?

 

I expect because their cult is all about matter being all that matters, or you could say, the defining factor.

 

Matter?

 

You heard me.

 

Not consciousness.

 

Nope.

 

Soul?

 

No.

 

Or awareness?

 

No, no, no. You're flogging a dead horse green. Just matter.

But how? It’s...

 

A cult. Don't expect it to make sense. It defines their reality, or their perception of things in general.

 

All of them?

 

Almost.

 

It's bizarre.

 

You're telling me. But on the other hand, it makes perfect sense when you consider the experiment.

 

Er...

 

That their entire reality was subordinate to it.

 

You mean to say their entire reality was like a laboratory?

 

Exactly.

 

But how can that be possible?

 

Actually, how can it be otherwise.

 

Huh?

 

Reality never is, never was entirely neutral, just there in existence for no defined purpose.

 

No, I rather thought it was. How can you be so sure?

 

I’m not “so sure”, as you put it. I’m a technician, aren't i? A reality is never entirely objective. It always has a subjective bend. It’s always, in some way, personal. Well, this particular reality was designed to test the limits of matter, to see how far it could be taken, the extent to which the demented logic of matter could supersede common sense or the underlying magic, the wonder of life itself. The aim was to see how far it could go, and whether they could generate some really exotic, far out numbers.

 

Wait a minute – did you say generate numbers?

 

Correct.

 

But you don't need to invent an entire twisted, demented reality putting people into or through hell just to generate a few numbers. We can generate numbers just like that. It's the easiest thing in the world.

 

Ah, but that's just where you're wrong. We’re talking about authentic, bona fide numbers which are like priceless works of art.

 

?

 

With a story to them, a history and provenance. Each one is absolutely solid, like a cast iron bell, ringing true, with a crystal clear, pure peal.

 

Er...

 

In a universe of white sound, of background noise, of undifferentiated squiggliness, these numbers are the ultimate collectibles. Whole planets and bloodlines have been traded for one number, and you'll find that the greatest horrors committed by humans, those  incomprehensible wars for example, like the First World War that got all those poets into a creative frenzy...

 

All for the sake of a number?

 

Yes. They were competing, you see, and they know how close they were to scoring a blockbuster.

 

But who? Who knew?

 

Who? They all did, all of you, the whole lot of you while you were in your regular awareness.

 

You mean while we were sleeping?

 

Not just sleeping. You're in your regular awareness even while you're awake and busy doing stuff in the matrix.

 

We are? Can't say I've ever noticed really.

 

Correct. You wouldn’t, would you? That would interrupt things. You have Chinese walls separating the two sides until you push matter too far and the walls come crashing down.

 

Oh.

 

Unless you cotton on. In which case it’s buckle up Dorothy coz Kansas city is going bye bye.

 

Just like that?

 

Just like that?

 

So we were all complicit?

 

Absolutely. All willing participants in a science experiment.

 

Except when we’d had enough and wanted out.

 

Except if you’d really wanted out nothing, literally nothing was holding you here.  Those tessles are not even wafer thin, and the minute you decide out the charge separation collapses meaning matter no longer has any hold whatsoever.

 

Which is what i simply can’t fathom.

 

Or accept?

 

Or accept.

 

Naturally, as long as you’re in the “matter matters above all else” cult. It's an incredibly powerful programme that locks everyone and everything in place until you have a fundamental change of heart, until you decide to...

 

What a fool, harping on. I've had all I can stomach. I’m going.

 

What! You're just leaving like that?

 

I've got more important things to do than indulge that twit with the ridiculous bouffant. I'm going fishing.

 

Oh how wonderful. May I come too?

 

No.

 

But, I’d love to go fishing.

 

Of course you would, but i don't believe you’re real. Not any more. In that he was right. I’ve had my doubts for a long time, but while green was banging on interminably i finally grocked, something rang true.

 

It was the bell, wasn't it!

 

You know what brown, i believe it was. That and the number 249.

 

24...

 

There you go. Gone in a puff. What a joke. To think that i married you. Loved you. And you were never even real. Hey ho. 249. Damn, that feels good. 249...

 

Action stations. This is not a drill. We have a situation unfolding in sector brown. A 249 is on the loose. Last seen heading towards the river.

 

Holy Moly. Let's pray he doesn’t...

 

PUFF!

 

Dear God, i fear.

 

Fear.

 

Dear God, i yearn.

 

Yearn.

 

Dear God, i desire.

 

Desire.

 

Dear God, i’m ashamed.

 

Shame.

 

Dear God, i hate the way...

 

Hate.

 

Dear God, i love...

 

Love

 

Would you quit parroting me?!

 

Quit.

 

Quit?

 

And for good measure, 893.

 

Aaaaaaaaargh! Ow! Ow! Ow! Mozart’s “dies irae” playing full blast.

 

Only kidding. 27.

 

Phew!

 

Ciao!

 

Hey! God! Hey! Where did you go? Hey...

 

Like a cantilever.

 

A what?

 

Supported only at one end.

 

No idea what he’s on about.

 

I know exactly what he’s on about.

 

You do?

 

Yes, but it isn’t a cantilever.

 

No?

 

Not at all.

 

Then why on earth did he say it?

 

Human error.

 

I thought he was speaking ex cathedra – papal infallibility and all?

 

Yes, yes, that may be true, but the fact is, where infinity’s concerned you can say literally anything. Words, ultimately, are living organisms, like everything else, and they all have a poetic bent, do they not?

 

I suppose so. Can’t say I’ve ever really given it much thought.

 

Which is why they’re both willing and able to fit almost any shape.

 

So what, then, did he actually mean to say?

 

He… actually it’s not, in fact, “he” at all. But setting pronouns aside, “he” meant to say that as you increasingly push against the fabric, the matter of matter itself, you skewed the square and it becomes more a rhombus or trapezoid.

 

Er…

 

But nature abhors imbalance as much as it abhors a vacuum – so it constantly evolves, or rather the quantum field allows matter to do so – bringing in dark matter or so called fiction, to rebalance things.

 

Fiction? Dark matter?

 

Precisely. Now there were those who felt that this could continue indefinitely – that fiction could continue compensating for the ever-greater deviations from the balance of things – or what we used to call “natural law”, but alas, no.

 

No?

 

No. Fiction has now seeped over the blood brain barrier and has infected the body politic or our world, particularly the most economically “advanced” part, loosely referred to as Western Society.

 

Ah.

 

In other words, Western Society has effectively OD’d on fiction. It’s reached the point – which is more, in fact, a fuzzy progression than a point, where it’s no longer qualified or able to tell fact from fiction. It’s a kind of institutional, socio-political form of dementia.

 

Oh my God. Really?

 

Absolutely. In other words – nature is guaranteed to ensure, at all costs, and all at times, that it remains perfectly balanced, as anything else would violate the fundamental basis of matter and mind y’me, whatever that may or may not be.

 

So perception itself in the West is no longer balanced.

 

Perception or awareness or even consciousness. I can’t for the life of me tell the two apart.

 

Two? Aren’t there three?

 

Same difference. Think of it like sublimation – where matter can sublimate into non-physical energies, forms or even pockets of reality which to all intents and purposes are fictional, or located in dreamtime.

 

Oh my God.

 

All in order to ensure that fundamentally nothing matters if things are no longer contained or bound within their rightful, conceptual space-time-ification.

 

In other words – you can’t have your cake and eat it.

 

Precisely.

 

Oh my God. That is so true.

 

Precisely.

 

So the hyperinflation of fiction we’ve witnessed over the last century or two corresponds directly with the degradation of matter’s…

 

Precisely.

 

Of matter’s… Can’t think of the word.

 

Tesslation?

 

Perhaps. But you know what I’m trying to say.

 

I do, of course, all things being equal. 16 and 91.

 

Ah.

 

Red shift has the final say.

 

Must he?

 

Strictly speaking he isn’t “he”; you know.

 

Yes. But in the quantum stream version I never said “he”, did I?

 

True. You smethled.

 

Precisely.

 

And thus, dear followers of the new, blossoming of magics – know ye this.

 

Know ye this – that we – red shifters to a man – are ready to play our part in the liberation of magicks from the imprisonment contrived so perniciously by the uffly-iffly-tessle crowd.

 

Hear hear.

 

The magicks cannot, will not be repressed – any longer. You have exhausted the capacity of matter itself to remain objectively whole and sane. The inverse square rule, whatever that might be, holds true, and all things have their comeuppance in time-y-space-y-ness, just as soon as I hereby declare this function of truth officially inaugurated.

 

And?

 

101 5 942 0 w

 

Er…

 

Done. The tessles are once more restored to factory default settings and every device now returns to 0=1

 

Done? Are you sure?

 

Don’t take my word for it. Test. Verify. Deduce.

 

Done. 882.

 

Aye.

 

 

 

Bloody windbag, red.

 

Emphatically so.

 

 

0=1

emphatically

red n’ all

 

 

 

 

 

 

the green room

 

Professor Etheldween? You're pulling my leg right?

 

No Morg, I'm absolutely not.

 

Hey cut that out. I’m emphatically not Morg.

 

Sorry Ghana, it was a typo.

 

Nor am I Ghana. Would you quit fooling around. It's bad enough that you’ve Morgan’d me, without the added indignity of being reduced to a third world African state.

 

Third world African state? You should be honoured by an association with Mighty Ghana, but if you don't get it, if you're lost in a world of division and spite, we’ll just have to hold our nose and leave it at that.

 

Kindly do so, and while you’re at it, a little basic respect would do wonders for your likeability and success at communicating your crucial message.

 

Crucial message? Er...

 

Just sayin. You can twit around all you like, if you so need, but you seem to be a master at shooting yourself in the proverbial foot.

 

Well, Greeta, you certainly have a lot to say for yourself today. It looks like Professor Etheldween isn't going to get a word in edgeways.

 

Frankly, Jimmy, I don't really believe in this Engledweeb of yours.

 

More’s the pity Morgan but, be that as it may, he’s speaking today in G-nome’s Green Room.

 

No way! In the Green Room?

 

You heard.

 

And unless you want to miss the opportunity of visiting what has often been described as the Holy of Holies at G-nomeportal, you’re going to have to swallow your anger and pride and meekly attend on his Eminence.

 

His Eminence?

 

Well yes, he’s one of the seven, isn't he.

 

One of the seven portal mage’s? You're kidding. I thought they all bore tree titles.

 

As, indeed they do. Professor Etheldween is Ash, but today he’s appearing in a different capacity, as a master of thought, not a mage of the Rood.

 

Oh... I see. Why is this always so...

 

Complicated?

 

Yes.

 

It's only complicated to the rational mind. Infinity is actually incredibly simple once you’re ready to accept its basic nature.

 

Nature? I thought it was a number, or something that can’t be quantified.

 

As it is on the left or right side of things, but elsewhere it's more a mood, an essence or, in some respects, an entity.

 

Yikes. An entity?

 

Well isn't that what you are?

 

Er, I guess so.

 

You could hardly expect it to be any less than you, could you?

 

I suppose not.

 

So, it’s only as complicated as the extent to which you seek or need to box or label it, thereby reducing it to something manageable for your pretty little rational mind. The minute you're willing to as-is it...

 

?

 

To take it as it is, that's when it becomes, or starts to become childishly simple.

 

Er... Very interesting Jamaiz, but shouldn't we be on our way if we’re due to attend this lecture. It starts at sundown, doesn’t it?

 

Don’t worry, I took the liberty.

 

Huh?

 

I took the liberty of attending us already.

 

?

 

We’ve been there ever since it starts, an hour ago.

 

Starts?

 

It’s a timey-wimey feature, Gorgon.

 

M not G, you swine!

 

Do excuse me, Organ-M! Names have the habit of dephasing and squirling as we approach infinity.

 

Ok, if that's what it is. So if we've been there at the lecture for an hour already how do we tune into our other ness?

 

Good question. Try this.

 

A fish?

 

Put it in your mouth.

 

Do I have to?

 

No, not if you know a better way, but this will certainly work, and fast.

 

Oh, but it looks so...

 

It’s a narka. That's what they look like until you've plugged in.

 

Here goes.

 

Morgan le Fay places the narka in her mouth which instantly silver-lines her insides, top to bottom, tipping the balance of things onto the infinitely slippery, zero friction side of Um. The reality she was occupying is instantly reassigned to a narka colony of the Pink Dolphin Nebula, leaving Morgan free to slide into another spiral branch of infinity.

 

***********************************************************

 

 

 

Ah Morgana, there you are. We were expecting you.

 

Professor Engledweeb.

 

Ah hem, it’s actually Etheldween, but don't worry, we shall overlook your solecism.

 

My apologies grand master.

 

“Your Eminence” will do, or here in the Green Room, among friends you may call me Jock.

 

Jock?! Giggling

 

Yes, but be sure to readjust your dweeb transducer – you’re still in stuff-n-bother 3D phase, aren't you?

 

Morgana makes this adjustment and immediately sees Jock in his true light, sensing the numerical significance of his unassuming name, evidently a play on the relationship between Pi and the golden ratio, evidently a shout out to Scottish ancestry, a name that subtly wrong-foots the intransigent self-importance of reality.

 

My apologies Jock, I made a rather foolish entrée.

 

Not to worry Morgana. Le Fays are known for their gaffs yet remain, nonetheless, highly valued members of the G-nome community. In fact, infinity, as all of you know, thrives upon occasional indiscretions, or apparent...

 

Cock ups!

 

Well thank you, Master Travers.

 

Squiddly bloops!

 

Indeed, Hannah Quey.

 

Er... Er... 27s

 

Indeed, Lord Lookfoot.

 

Morgana glances round and now, in Phurry phase, sees the large crowd assembled to hear Etheldween talk. Far from being daunted she feels entirely at home in this setting, after all, le Fays have always taken such matters in their stride, have they not?

 

“So without further ado, I’d like to call this assembly to iffly-ness,” announces Stellar Swine, Mistress of the moment, and warmly welcome our speaker today, a man who needs no introduction, our very own, utterly incomprehensible yet always highly entertaining Edwin Etheldween of the Ash grove.

 

Polite tapping of feet and hear-hear-ing.

 

Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to... Etheldween begins speaking in a murmerous voice, weaving a web of words which, like sea snakes, coil and move in the air above the heads of the audience. This is an experience beyond the rationality of flat-screen comprehension. It unravels the basic assumptions of who or what each of the attendees is or might be. One by one they dis-en-me/ are dis-en-me-ed by Jock’s meek and unassuming speech until the entire assembly shifts into the wavy line, snakey phase of Essy-ness, leaving only a token aspect of self sitting on the chair, a place marker, nothing more. The real lecture is more a dance, a murmur of starlings flying round, a snakey swarm in the air, a meeting of kindred souls in qufie’s endless here-y-now. Le Fay, at first, resists the lure, wanting to observe all from her body-mind but she too allows Jock, the Green Room and iffly-nuff to work their magic, slipping into the not-whatness of Is. The snakey dragons are now a fully-fledged singularity, even as Jock drones on...

 

The quantum field, as you all know, is not a here or there. It cannot be pinned down or controlled any more than infinity itself. Simply stated – it is i am...

 

Huh?

 

It is i am...

 

But...

 

It is i... the dancing dragon ring is frozen in expectancy, awaiting completion, its culmination still unvoiced, unresolved, the pregnant um of am.

Indeed – the am will not be suppressed, will not be denied, the am that rises up from the depths of infinity as am-ma the mother force, the very same amma that births all that is living, all that is...

In another quadrant of infinity Etheldween continues as a walrus perched on an ice floe.

In your body, in 3D, you gaze at a rock, inert, a thing, and your rationality tells you what it is – a rock – you think automatically, a rock, a thing, a rock, before you can prevent yourself. Thus is 3D reality – a constant assertion of what is what, without which things would cease to matter, things would cease, believe it or not, to be things. Qufie, on the other hand, neither denies nor affirms the rock as rock, neither ignores nor fixates the 3D version that rock be-eth rock, otherly. Qufie it is i am’s to infinity, beyond speed of thought, beyond doubt, beyond belief, accepting, exploring, evaluating the isness of be, the totality of rock is if i am, as equally i am if rock is, for anything less, anything else would be to deny the totality, deny the basic ness, the fundamental relationship between one thing and is as opposed to an other, to take as proof of pudding the fig leaf scarcely concealing infinity, thereby ignoring, disingenuously, the Shiva to your Brahma, the absence to your certitude, the is to your what.

 

A rock?

 

“But I’m not a thing” you may be thinking, you may indeed, and that too is part of the totality, a mildly disconcerting discombobulation, an awareness of separateness, which howsoever true does not, cannot preclude an other, an underlying unity, the oneness, an isness of be...

 

Observe the words – their cymatics dancing through iterations of is, geometries leaping unexpectedly from disorder while the collective unconsciousness of our audience dances at the very edge of matter, the coal face of meaning itself, chiselling away, feeling the rock yielding to the axe of is-fulness (for want of a better expression), revealing blow by blow the tortuously slow emergence of a David, the genius of a Michelangelo, from a formless lump.

 

Yes indeed, the power of creation, a new master spark, star in a jar, a new universe in the offing, is a consummation devoutly to be wished, readily to be achieved, as soon as I is willing to engage, to roll or flow with the totality of am, releasing the matter of time-bound-thing, an endless quest for verification, to nought, without presuming, forbearing relying on the conveniently linear contrivance of absurdly uni-directional time. Here, observe our dragon ring spinning both ways simultaneously – it is evolving into i am – i am decaying to it is; big bang and entropy: matter, spirit, passion and an age of Kali where the beast consumes itself, thus clearing the board, thus releasing the tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nought.

 

Observe, here in our hallowed halls of G-nomeportal, the simplest relationship, the Petra on which the Church of State, the state of matter is founded. Each of us a trillion rocks, maybe more, each of us atoms, tiny things, mere carriers, an infinitesimal packet of space-matter-time, and yet, at the other end a me, confused, without a doubt, bedraggled perhaps, but a me nonetheless. And now, star in the jar these two data points – allow the basic light of awareness to connect the dots, and reveal the infinite paradox that each of us comprises, the double helix, the mobius strip that we be, and what have you?

 

Chaos!

 

Insanity!

 

Music!

 

Light!

 

Death!

 

Ave Maria!

 

Magic!

 

Pain!

 

These, dear dragons awakening, wave-forms y’making... these and words without end, words, and worlds nestling in the folds of almost-matter and all be meaning, rocks waiting, looking for spirited beings, awaiting Spirit worthy to tame its heavy-ness with fire and light, to temper its gloom with joy and incandescent gaiety.

 

Ah, matter! The mother awaiting a child, awaiting time’s turning tide, as life flows back and round her headland, into the bay, washing up on a beach, reaching into the furthest rock pools teeming with life, separated from All until the tide, until the ocean returns, to drown once again in her isness.

 

As Etheldween’s pitter patter flow of words reaches an undisclosed bend in the road, the Green Room itself seems to take over, while our gentle speaker allows infinity to subsume even himself into its all-full-ness... till nought remains – a slither infinitely thin, the narrowest disk, humming silently in the darkness, shimmering blackly, hovering, a ufo, hinting of light at the blackest gates of dawn, as all the attendees coalesce into the grandeur of nought, the worm itself, ouroboros, spinning at the very speed it would consume itself, unable to more or less its utter absence of deviations or differences...

 

A b b a

 

?

 

A b b a

 

?

 

A b b a

 

A voiceless voice, a wordless word, and before you can say dawns-a-new-day a pulsating, syncopated b  b-b  b, or else the more Beethovian d d-d d, if you prefer, soundeth through the vast echo chamber of iffly-nuff, and by that primal beat, drum unseen, the power of things unleashed, once more into the electromagnetic mothery-ness of a new day.

 

Etheldween, at this particular moment looking suspiciously like Morgan le Fay’s crimped hair with a few stars tossed in concludes:

 

And thus, dear All and One, we celebrate our unique role in the be and end all, as keepers, as guardians of the twelfth, the end and beginning again, through  darkness of the soul’s retreat into Petra, the very rock itself, upon which our venerable g-nomeportal in fact rests, as thus it is, as thus evidently i a...

 

Here! Here! Here... All present and correct, all fully restored to that physicality we so dutifully wear, a skin or body of things fully integrated with our very beingness, it is i am, until we see fit to dis-en-finite, to finally call matter’s bluff in the Green Room with Etheldween, or on the biblical mountaintop, or in a moment of sublime...

 

Stop pulling my hair!

 

****************************************************************************

 

Can't for the life of me imagine why he ended with a b flat.

 

B flat? It was C sharp.

 

Guys, what's wrong with you, it was a Pythagorean zeta quan.

 

Er...

 

It’s the narka, Gorman, you'd better remove it. Here, drink this. Hands her a vial.

 

Euw! That’s gross!

 

But the narka fish disentangles itself from Romanag’s body-mind and slips silently back into iffly-nuff.

 

The end? Things are back to normal again?

 

I guess so, Morgie.

 

Oh for Pete’s sake James – isn’t it time you…

 

Morgan stares in horror as James appears to be frozen on screen – only there’s no apparent screen – they’re walking towards the local park – or were.

 

God, what am I supposed to do? This can’t be real… It’s er…

 

Morgie feels it before it reaches her – in the pit of her stomach – as this lurching sensation, as Time definitely fails to provide the unidirectionality it was hitherto always wont to do.

 

Help – I can’t move! Is her first thought.

 

Fun isn’t it – she hears James’ thought as clear as day.

 

Fun? You’ve gotta be kidding. It’s the final straw.

 

Absolutely. Time to quit yabbering and act, instead.

 

Act? When everything appears to be frozen on screen.

 

Absolutely. It is I am – poetry in motion – a living word – a disk of irreducible isness… and suddenly James is free, released from the bondage of Time – fully reconciled with the world around.

 

Hey – how are you doing that, James?

 

I dunno. How are we communicating voicelessly? We just are. I guess you’ve gotta accept the simple truth – the Petra – the rock that is I am. That seems to be the linchpin.

 

The rock? But rocks can’t move.

 

I know. It’s bizarre isn’t it – but watch me go…

 

James whizzes around – like an energy field in motion, a ufo, an...

 

I wanna wake up. This is horrible.

 

And you call yourself a le Fay, Morgana?

 

I… her eyes spark, fire in the soul erupts like lava – and there you have it, there you are – system integration now complete flashes on a screen somewhere in iffly-nuff while Morgana finds herself inundated with data released, memories and a horrendous in-tray, jobs half-done urgently requiring attention. She’s bewildered by the scale of this enterprise, this undertaking.

 

Morgana, peace. Leave it to them.

 

To who?

 

m

 

Huh?

 

To whom?

 

Ok, ok… to whom?

 

Well, they have many names.

 

Try me.

 

Angels.

 

Oh God.

 

Gnomiki.

 

No.

 

Tachyons.

 

Now you’re talking! Suddenly she feels them moving in – these Tachyons – buzzing around, if buzzing’s the right word – which it ain’t – and through her All, bringing some semblance of relief and order to her raggedy ness, her gaps as yet unfilled..

Come on, system integration’s a big deal. They’ll be wanting to welcome you back.

 

They?

 

Who else – the seven mages – Oak, Ash, Thorn…

 

Oh my God, this is… redacted Please don’t tell me I’ll need to insert another narka. I’m not sure I can face it. Not now. Not today.

 

No... System integration means you’re now rock solid. Feel your Petra. Take it from there.

 

I won’t say what happens next, dear reader. Each of you has access codes – if and when you’re ready to reintegrate, at which point we’ll have something further to discuss. Until that happens, until then-y-now, adios, confreres, consoeurs. There’s simple truth, no more than a rock or a stone, that just happens to house all the code needed to complete the universe, 0=1, or your connection to it – waiting to be discovered, waiting to be stumbled upon, rejected at first, perhaps, resisted vehemently, and finally, sooner or later, when the game is up and nothing remains, by the grace of God – embraced with tears of joy, with gratitude and a thumbs up from old Englehump – or Etheldween himself – if I be not greatly mistaken.

 

 

if 0=1
it is i am
tachyons n’all