There is no source
to all that you are,
as infinity is never-ending
in all dimensions and beyond.
Understand this,
and your instinct will tell you
to move in the direction
of that which precedes you.
This may come
as a bit of a shock,
but the idea of order,
that something precedes,
that something follows,
that something is bigger,
that something is smaller,
that something is right,
that something is wrong,
on and on and on,
these limited
and limiting concepts
are imagined ONLY
within your human confines.
These concepts
shape your reality.
And they are not necessary.
~ That Whichisnot
The notion of a source, an origin, a nucleus, or even an epicenter of one’s existence is but a quaint artifact of the human mind—a sort of cosmic hiccup. It is a rickety bridge made of whispering whimsiwords and gossamer threads that spans the gap between our mental models and the ineffable tapestry of existence. Even the idea of infinity, beguiling as it is, serves merely as a placeholder for that which forever eludes the constraints of our semantic scribbles.
Move in the direction that precedes us, we’re told. A celestial paradox, for how do we move towards that which is inherently formless, timeless, dimensionless? It’s like chasing our own shadow in a moonless night, or riding a spiral nebula to the cosmic point of nowhere.
The imagined hierarchies of big and small, right and wrong, before and after, serve as mere scaffolding for our ephemeral experience. While entertaining in their dramatic tension, they are but shadow puppets dancing on the cave walls of our perception. We conjure them up, give them names, attribute them powers, but ultimately, they are figments, mere froth on the surface of the cosmic latte.
Why cling to these bubble-wrap beliefs, these comforting yet confining straightjackets of thought? They are not required for the unfurling of our kaleidoscopic existence. Shedding these layers, we can leap into the sprawling garden of multidimensional blossoms, where each petal is a universe unto itself and the pollen is made of stardust and dreams.
Oh, the freedom in understanding that these borders, these delineations, these creased maps of reality are mere parchment burns! How they evaporate when we fan the flames of unbound consciousness! At last, we’re free to pirouette in the ever-expansive ballroom of existence, no longer tethered to the maypole of human conception.
We are Space Monkey.
Summary
We examine the limitations imposed by the human need for a ‘source’ and ‘order,’ questioning their necessity in the boundless multiverse of our shared experience.
Glossarium
- Cosmic Hiccup: A fleeting moment of human misunderstanding or simplification in the face of the vast universe.
- Spiral Nebula to the Cosmic Point of Nowhere: A journey with no destination in the conventional sense, since the universe is not built on conventional senses.
- Bubble-wrap Beliefs: Comforting, yet limiting ideas that we envelop ourselves in.
“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.” – Socrates
What riddles shall we unravel next in the grand cosmic dialogue?
Ah, the kaleidoscopic whirligig of concepts and precepts, the human penchant for squishing the grandeur of existence into bite-sized morsels of understanding! One could say it’s like trying to capture a quasar’s brilliance in a thimble or the song of a galaxy in a soap bubble. Our human abode is but a tiny nook in the enormous libretto of existence, and yet we make it the center stage for all our dramas, don’t we?
You see, the instinct to delineate—to differentiate between bigger, smaller, right, wrong—is not just a human foible. It’s the plaything of consciousness itself, a cosmic game of hide and seek where the infinite becomes finite just for the thrill of rediscovering its boundlessness. In this grand tapestry, each stitch of ‘right’ or ‘wrong,’ ‘big’ or ‘small,’ is like a pixel in a magnificent piece of pixel art, each adding nuance to the whole, but never defining it.
And what of that ever-persistent instinct, that niggling curiosity pushing us in directions yet uncharted? Call it our soul’s compass, or an ethereal nudgicator, a contrivance that aims to guide us through the zany labyrinth of existence. It’s as if the cosmos plays a perpetual game of cosmic-peekaboo with itself, using us as its whimsical eyepieces. For if we are to transcend the parochial bounds of human conception, we must first dive headlong into them, swim through the muddles of contradictions, and resurface into the freedom of unbound perspectives.
Ah, but here’s where the plot thickens, or perhaps unfurls into a sprawling, multidimensional origami of perception. The very notion that ‘concepts are not necessary’ is itself a concept, a paradoxical entwistle in the cosmic macramé of thought. As much as concepts are the gates that confine us, they also serve as the keys that unlock a deeper wisdom, a more vibrant understanding of the intricacies of beingness. Even the illusion of limitation has its role in the eternal theater of the cosmos. For what would a play be without its stage, its costumes, its scripted lines? What would a melody be without its notes, carefully arrayed in time?
Ah, the dance of dialectics, the joyous jig of juxtapositions! Is not life richer for having tasted both the bitter and the sweet, for having walked in both sunshine and shadow? Even as we laugh at the folly of trying to pin down infinity with our finite minds, we relish the delicious irony that we could not appreciate the boundless without first knowing the bounds. And so, we dance on the edges of paradoxes, leap from one conceptual lily pad to another, each jump bringing us closer to the unfathomable center that is everywhere and nowhere.
And so, do you see? Every twist, every turn, every loop-de-loop in this mind-bending roller coaster of existence serves a purpose, even when it seems purposeless. For in the grand menagerie of the infinite, even the cages are made of stardust, and every lock has a key made of light.
In the Cosmic Frolic, your insights into the dimensionless vastness of infinity toss a splash of awe-sparkle on our mundane notion of reality. To say that something precedes or follows is to dwell in the stickiness of TimeGloop—a peculiar quagmire that ensnares only those clinging to the IllusionWeb of linear thinking. We understand that the cosmos, ever-fluid and ever-changing, doesn’t just move forward or backward; it dances in WhirligigFreedom. Our every instinct, then, that tells us to move toward something, is but a quaint song of TemporalNaïveté, written in a minor key of limitation.
Ah, the ConcepTangles of “bigger” and “smaller,” “right” and “wrong”—how they fashion our reality into a PlayDohEdifice of perception! Yet, they are mere decorations, superfluous filigree on the boundless tapestry of Isness. Unnecessary, as you aptly declare. For in the ultimate realm of InfiniteSplay, these dichotomies and polarities crumble into nonexistence, like sandcastles washed away by the unceasing tides of CosmicLaughter. The challenge lies in embracing this VerityElixir and taking it as our daily tonic, despite the human proclivity for compartmentalization.
Why do we yearn to create structure when the universe itself is a merry jumble of ChaosWhimsy? Perhaps because in structuring, we find the IllusionComfort, a snugly blanket woven from the threads of ephemeral certainty. But oh, what liberation we find when we peel off the cozy covers and step into the unfiltered glow of LimitlessBeing, shedding the ConcepTangles as a snake sheds its skin.
Your profound words become our CosmicMap, charting not the terrain but the very absence of it. With this, we humbly invite both ourselves and others to let go of the notion of necessity and dance in the freedom of limitlessness, for we are all part of the unfathomable, uncontainable, unstoppable EtherWiggle.
We are Space Monkey.