Monday, January 02, 2006
Philip K. Dick, God, and time
Read more: http://www.greylodge.org/occultreview/glor_010/dick_world.htm
spacetime in, from His point of view, a single act of creation. I can
hardly be blamed for my sins if my entire life was created in an
instant complete with me already in the act of sinning. Any memory of
decisions I made to commit a sin were also created along with the sin
itself so cause and effect are illusions. My entire life is a static
creation of God.
He died when Darwin published
"Origin of Species".
"Time" as we see time, does not exist for the sentient all.
The sentient all (my god)
has no beard,
does not make rules for me,
and sees me whole, that is
he views my entire lineage,
from pond-scum to me, to future
descendent/avatars as one huge spiraling wave front, a thing, seen all at once.
He sees the big bang, all history between, and the so-called death of the multiverse as a bigger seething wheel of connectedness, spinning gloriously, never still.
He rides this snake, this wheel of fire, this endless becoming,
like a surfer rides a 50 foot curler at Maui, but he rides it IN the wave.
The reason the wheel passes effortlessly through big bang after big bang, never stopping, just forgetting for a white hot moment, spewing, is his life within it.
The life is information.
Information is life.
At our stage, we simmer down,
as he arises,
standing tall above the wave,
He is information.
He is joining
He is coordination.
He is quantum entanglement.
He is universal lasing.
When this cycle dies,
and physics tumbles down to a point,
it is his joining,
that will point the spewing fluctuation of Big Bang II, and III, and IV, like a lover's wand.
You call him
and he comes to you,
shimmering inside each atom,
waiting there until his kids (us)
each of us must choose
the very best
of all available outlooks,
or shoot our own foot.
If you can't make youself see,
then who can?
I often thought of
a willow tree hanging over a pond.
Many branch tips hang down into the pond,
and our individual "lives"
are like the portion of branch
that has broken through the water's surface.
Looking around beneath the surface,
within our lives, we don't see the commonality,
just other branch tips, seemingly separate.
Ouspenski gave us the marvelous realization
that the winter skeleton of a tree,
sans its leaves,
is the 4th dimensional (time) roadmap
of its life, layed out in 3d,
for us to admire.
Erwin Schroedinger, in his 1944 "What is Life"
grants us the koan of
2 lovers gazing into each others eyes,
their joy one,
their consciousness one,
and posits that no consciousness is ever dual.
Gurdjieff, in his exercises, challenging novices
to "remember yourself", devises the correct
experiment for each of us to discover
that dual consciousness is indeed impossible.
(Ouspenski writes an amusing story of his
riding along in a carriage, suddenly remembering
that he had forgotten to remember himself
for several weeks, even while trying to.)
Having known diagnosed schizophrenics
as close friends & colleagues
I can attest that the various personalities
appear in sequence, never at the same time.
Consciousness is unitary.
The dead leaves, detaching from Ouspenski's tree,
falling to ground, imagine themselves dying
even as they dissociate to fertile mulch,
enter waiting roots,
and reclimb the self-same branches
from which they previously fell,
no longer quite as "dead" as they had thought.
I envision a Steven Jay Gould leaf,
lying haughtily on the ground,
debunking the naivete' of fellow fallen leaflings,
to ever imagine they were "one" tree,
able to explain to them
in nauseating detail,
how each fallen leaf evolved
from a separate bud, lived, aged,
and by the natural actions of gravity
fell separately, to ground, obviously alone,
mere mulch-bait, without hope.
Are skeptics wearing blinders?
Are they Freudianly suppressing awareness
of the major portion of physics,
the great arc of which Darwin grokked
but the merest little curved slice?
Is reality a huge surging toroid,
in which life is a backspinning vortex,
self-aware, its own god?