Looking

¶ A pupil and a mentor stood in a garden. The mentor said, "Look, there is a dog."
¶ The pupil looked and confirmed, "Yes, there is a dog," and soon after the two left the garden without anything else having transpired.
¶ The next day the pupil and the mentor stood in another garden. The pupil said, "Look, there is a cat."
¶ The mentor looked and answered that he saw no cat, so the two began searching the garden. Among the plants they each found many birds and squirrels and other animals. Each time they would find one they would point it out to the other, and the mentor would sometimes ask if maybe the pupil had not seen a cat, but had seen this animal here, or that one there. They discussed each animal, to see if it might have been what the pupil had called a cat. After a good day of exploration, discussion, and learning, they found a dog and agreed that it had been what the pupil had called a cat, then left the garden.

Temporal and Non-Temporal Eternity

>Behold this particle, an immortal substance, a being which has always existed and will continue to exist for all Time. It is immortal, for its time did not begin and will not end. Its life is eternal... but only temporally eternal.
>Behold this truth, a material non-substance, a being which exists only outside of Time, having no past nor future. It is immortal, for it is above the beginning and end of Time. Its life is eternal... even non-temporally eternal.
>Behold this temporally immortal being, who is like a book that has always been sitting on the shelf and always will, whilst dust whirls in the air about it and the library cracks, is repaired, and cracks again. Remember that it sits there still.
>Behold this non-temporally immortal being who wrote in this book during mortality and then was erased by Death from spatiotemporal existence; having seen during mortality his own heart crack like the heavens giving birth, repair like an atonement of another generation, and crack again to communicate an end to this galaxy. Remember that it has transcended spatiotemporal existence.

>Know that that which is spatiotemporally existent is only here and now, even if it continues forever with here and now; but that which is spatiotemporally non existent (nowhere), but is non-temporally eternal, is omnipresent; for even as Time itself is present in one consideration and not another, so is its siblings who may be read inside of it but who exist outside of it. Note that the afore mentioned particle walks endlessly within Time as its child, but the afore mentioned truth walks ever alongside it as its sibling.
>Now understand the words used to communicate non-temporally eternal events do not actually discuss events. For example, an afore mentioned immortal child of Time may be birthed by time, but of course it never *was* birthed by time, rather it *is* birthed by time, for the truth of the family relationship between Time and a temporally eternal particle is a non-temporally eternal truth. See now that that which occurs "in the beginning" of a non-temporally eternal event is omnipresently occurring "in the beginning," not only in the past. May this add to your perspective and increase the value of knowledge you continue to receive.

Animism

>Why should you be any more aware than my cat? And doesn’t he look like a machine, only appearing to be more aware than a spoon because of his being animated? And, between a spoon and my cat there is a blender, also animated, but not as fluidly. Why should you expect you are any more aware than these things?
>Obviously, you have sensory organs, but these don’t give you awareness, they merely sense stimuli. You have a brain which processes electrochemical chain reactions which you are aware of as thoughts. You have glands which release neurotransmitters, emotions which you are aware of as feelings. None of these things grant you any more awareness than a spoon, they merely give you different things to be aware of.
>Do all things not have spirit? Intelligence? Awareness? If not, then why would you?

Foundational

>We make a lot of assumptions. This is necessary for survival. To maintain healthy existence, we must partake in assumption, philosophy, and being (more on that some other time). Let us now partake in philosophy.
>Rather than retracing my thoughts, I will simply share with you the conclusion of my thoughts; the conclusion of my fundamentalistic meditation. There exist three things. These things are awareness, objects, and method.
>Awareness explains itself better than I can explain it just now.
>Objects are things like a car, a tree, love, the number nine, an intelligent shade of blue, a guy named Leonardo, the left eye of a guy named Leonardo, or the twitch of the left eye of a guy named Leonardo. These objects may not actually exist as we perceive them, but because there is variation in our perception of what seem to be objects, we know that there must actually be various objects.
>Method refers to the way that these things function. We may consider that when a cat is put in water, the cat gets wet; or, when a heart stops beating, blood generally ceases to flow, and oxygen is no longer delivered to the cells, eventually leading to death; or, a²+b²=c²; or 2+3=5. Method essentially is the way things work. We don’t know for certain that the methods we perceive are accurately perceived, but we know there are methods.
>(Another possible method to consider is chaos, which is essentially the non-orderly method. Suppose that all the memories wired into your brain and all the elements of your current surroundings spontaneously appeared there around the time you began reading this essay. How did you get here? Your memories will tell you one story, but that story was just put there, as I said, around the time you began reading this? Who are you? What was your childhood like, what have you experienced. According to the theory of this chaos method, all of these memories, all that you know about life, everything you learned in school, and from your parents, and your parents themselves, and all you knowledge and thoughts you’ve had, are essentially false. All ideas that were generated completely and absolutely randomly around the time, again as this example suggests, that you began to read this essay. It may also be possible that a combination of orderly methods and the chaotic method may exist. Of course, it may well be that only the orderly methods, and not the chaotic method exist.)
>Now I will mention some thoughts I had in the process of coming to this conclusion. For a long time I have considered perception and misperception as being based off of a material world. My thoughts were that actuality was some material plain that I perceive indirectly, and reality was composed of those indirect perceptions. I realized though, during my analytical meditations after reading Rene Descartes’ First Philosophy, that I was making too many assumptions here. Matter doesn’t necessarily exist. Objects exist, and they function according to methods, and they are perceived or misperceived by awareness.
>Also, I used to assume that awareness was indirect, but it was in considering that our perceptions themselves operating according to methods could be actuality, that I realized the belief in this underlying material world, or any underlying world, was unjustly founded. This is by no means to say that there isn’t an actuality underlying our perceptions, it is merely to say that I was wrong to assume so readily that my perceptions could not themselves be actuality.
>Now, methods and objects are really both objects... let me get out my journal and see how I worded it back then... O.K., nevermind, that didn’t help. But, really objects, methods, and awareness (I called it sentience then) are all objects, not that that does a lot of good at clarifying what I’m trying to say, but oh well.
>So, according to current scientific understanding, some objects we might consider are things like a cat, and the atoms which composes that cat, and some methods we might consider would be matters of chemistry and biology and some physics regarding why that cat is the way it is and how the molecules in it are held together and how evolution and environment formed that cat. A more simple example would be the object of a triangle, and the method that if two triangles share one side, there will be four non-shared sides which will make another object, which object shall be a quadrilateral. (This is a much better example for several reasons, one of which is that triangles don’t physically exist, and another is that numbers are a perfect example of objects and math a perfect example of method.)
>So, yup, there you have it. Make of it what you like. I’m gonna go look through my fridge for some more food now. Leave some comments, share your thoughts, do a little dance.
>
>(Oh dear me. Google, you were dong so well, but you had to go and be fancy and make the same mistake as Microsoft, so now I have to manually go back and say, no thank you, I don't want my computer to behave as if it thinks it's smarter than me and randomly decide to change my formatting halfway through. If I wanted my formatting changed, I would have changed it, but I didn't, so it really shouldn't be happening. Maybe I should go back to notepad.)

Mortal Glory, a Forgotten Beauty

- From my lungs I cry laughter to the roof of the night! From my eyes, salt and water write an ode to joy upon my face! I throw my hands into the air! I shout! I understand, “Life is wonderful!”
- An old man gives me a funny look, and I answer him with a hand on his shoulder, “Life is wonderful!” I chuckle, at myself, with the world, “I don’t expect you to understand me. I don’t know how I could express to you what it is. But Life is wonderful!”
- I move on, in these moments so precious. I progress towards the end of it all, for I know this will end, and it will be forgotten forever and ever. That’s wonderful too. Nobody need remember this, not even God. As sad as it may seem, knowing that soon, tomorrow, or in a few hours, I will have forgotten all that I now understand. I will remember only that I understood something, but won’t be able to put my finger on what it was. This is not the kind of thing that memory records. When the memory ends, so will this me, and that other me will be left standing with a look of confusion as sweet as that of the old man.
- I feel more than joy, I feel sorrow as well. I feel everything I could ever need to feel. I am living my life, knowing every experience, every sensation that makes up a fulfilled life. In these few minutes, I have had a worthwhile, nay, more than worthwhile lifetime. That other me who shall stand confused, he shall live many more years. His body shall pass away and he shall continue through the spirit world for all eternity. He shall do all this, but he shall never understand me like I do now. Nobody ever shall, not even myself again, for I will die, and I will not continue through the eternities. I’ll be as a corpse in an atheists eye, going to the grave forever. It’s alright. It’s wonderful. A am a mortal part of him, a part for which he has always been living, though he never knew it. Even if I’m the only one in his whole eternal existence, even if I’m the only one in all the eternities together, it was all worth it.
- Who is that? I ask her name.
- “My name is Jezebel. I play violin.”
- I furrow my brow, narrow my eyes. She isn’t real. “A name,” I growl, “And a shallow profile. You’re just a character, easily invented, easily written. You’re a phony!”
- She smiles in a doll-like way, “So, what do you do?”
- I stumble back, these words, this question. I have been asked what I do, what I like...
- (Years ago:
- Q: What do you like to do?
- A: Uh... I like to... read... write... listen to music...? Who am I?
- Less years ago:
- Q: What do you like to do?
- A: Uh.. I like to.. read.. write..? Who am I?
- Recently:
- Q: What do you like to do?
- A: Uh. I like to. read. Who am I?
- Presently:)
- A: I stagger. I sway. These words have cut my eyes open. What do I do? Who am I? Are my answers not as contrived as hers? Is my profile any more sincere? Or am I just as much a character as her, written up:
- This character’s name is... How about Jezebel... And Jezebel... She works at... no, she plays violin. Yes, that will make a good character. Jezebel, who plays violin.
- Am I any more real? Think now, who am I? What do I do? What do I like? What did I do as a child? What was it like? What have I experienced? What is my life? ...Who am I?
- I have no idea. I can only list off facts I’ve memorized about myself, but none mean anything more to me than those I can tell you about Tom Sawyer, Hamlet, “Call me Ishmael.” I don’t know anythi-
- I notice a masquerading man is mirroring my motions, the shaking of my hands, the pacing of my feet. He wears a facade of my desperate questioning. I glare at this taunting man. He looks nothing like me, and makes a mockery of my motions with his play. I turn away and then,
- I see my reflection.
- Though it is pitch black, though my eyes cannot actually function in this lighting, I know that the mirror is there, and so I see my reflection. As always, it looks nothing like me. I clutch my head, I growl and try to shake away the discomforting lie in the mirror. Finally I avert my eyes from the unbearable looking glass, and I see the masquerader again.
- When he imitates me, why should I call it a mockery? Because of his appearance that is so unlike me? So untrue? He is no less like me than my own reflection.
- I look down at myself, but it’s too dark to see, and even if I could, I’m on the wrong side of my eyes, looking the wrong way.
- The old man stands to the one side, and on the other the masquerader. Jezebel, the violinist, stands on the opposite side of me from my reflection. Every feeling I know to exist, very subtly, swirls around in my head as my energy fades, and I sink to the ground, slumped against a wall.
- I open my eyes, and in the faint blue light, I look around the bathroom. I’m forgetting already. What was it that I was experiencing just a little bit ago? Precious moments? A lifetime in a few minutes? Well I knew they would end. I close my eyes.
- The old man wants to know what that was all about. What did I mean, “Life is wonderful?” What epiphany had I experienced? Now I’m as clueless as him.

My Perception of Time

- This is how I see time:
- Three squared in nine. The square root of nine is three. The effect of this is that. The cause of that is this.
- No matter when you solve the problem, three squared is still nine. No matter when you solve the problem, the square root of nine is still three. No matter when you experience the cause, the effect is the same. No matter when you experience the effect, the cause is the same.
- (3^2)*y=18. (3^2)*2=x. x=18. y=2. No matter when you solve it, the solution will be the same. No matter when you experience the solution, it will be the same. "a" squared plus "b" squared equals "c" squared. In a right angle, the two acute angles add up to ninety degrees.
- Time is not a line, nor a web. Time is a fact, or a compound of many facts. Each moment is another step in the solving of an equation, though it will never be completely solved. The present time is the point in the equation you are currently at, however, many facts beyond the one currently being dealt with are equally true to the one you are dealing with now, both conceptual facts as well as facts of steps in the equation which were present earlier, and which will yet be present. All of the equation and the facts involved exist constantly, regardless of what step your mind may currently be focussed upon. Your mind is part of the equation, and can be solved for, and is the solution for other parts of the equation.
- The fact of the universe is defined. Your life is not predetermined, but it is determined. The substance of cause and effect interrelation is static. In the big picture, the universe is a single, massive mathematical equation. You can represent a mathematical equation by writing it out on a chalkboard in many ways, but it is the facts expressed in the equation that are the essence analogous to my perception of time.

A glass box. A painted artpiece.

A glass box. A painted artpiece.
Set where passerbys see.
They come, admire, might stop.
They pass their various ways.
A boy stopped. Reached out.
Touched.
He scratched the painted glass box.
"Stop that!" cried the officer
seeing through aviators.
Scratch.
"Stop!" running comes
Scratch,scratch,claw, something?
Baton drawn, swing, beat, bloody.
Dragged the boy away from, "Do not touch."
Crumpled boy. Blood from an empty heart.
Something inside me. A jigsaw heart.
One piece, incomplete, empty heart.
A glass box. A painted artpiece.
The boy returned,
Returns pounding,
His fists to the glass, crack,
knuckle shards dripping crimson.
A hole. Sanguine hands.
"Stop that!" cried the officer.
Widen the opening. Sanguine to the elbows.
"Stop that!" running towards.
Grab edge, stinging palm, pull to the ground.
Opening the glass box. There inside!
Baton drawn, thwap!
Boy on the pavement, dripping hands reaching,
reaching to the exposedundershards
thwap!
But it was there...
thwap!
A jigsaw cut gem.
A surpasser of painted shell.
thw- grab the aviators, painted blindness.
Nails scratching the officer's face.
A yell of curses, wincing, then...
opening his eyes... he saw it to.
Everyone had stopped, for,
A jigsaw cut gem.