When the Light Goes Out

Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe in. Hold it like smoke. Breathe out. Slowly. We're going to take a mental trip, a sojourn, and we're going to visit some places. The day outside is bright, is it not? The sun shines through the window. The clock ticks. But we'll let it vanish into the background, like the comfortable tiny heartbeat of a kitty cat. You have your hopes and fears, your dreams and burdens, and carry memories with you. You know of the various facets of your day-to-day life: you've kept them all in your mental cupboard. But let me ask you this before we go: How reliable, do you think, is your memory?

The world is a place of strangeness and beauty. But also a dream of dark and troubling things.

We don't know any more of why we're here, and, most importantly, where we're going, than any other four-legged beast (though we be of the two-legged variety, we share a kinship with the other beasts of the fields, fowl of the air, fish of the sea, and so on and so forth).

We see “through a glass darkly,” to quote Shakespeare (or the scriptures, I can't now remember), and every night we close our eyes and awake in that other world, that place that is neither right-side-up nor upside-down.

A few lonely, haunted souls realize that the “real world” that all cling to with such determined fingers, grasping at an intangible, is nothing more than another permutation of that vast and endless eternal dream, that place we sojourn to every night, in the darkness, as we slumber. That other world is a continuum of our own, and vice versa. Prove to me that anything that is impermanent, transitory, and, most importantly, intensely personal as “life” is anything more than your solitary dream—something only experienced by the five senses, ALL of which are subject to derangement, to delusion. After all, you don't experience the world as a “group experience,” feeling the emotions, thinking the thoughts, experiencing the pains and pleasures of another. No. They are all EXTERIOR to you, outside of you, experienced only through your sensory inputs—your tactile sense of touch, your sense of smell, and even taste (your hearing as well, of course). They are phantom impulses, constructs you experience as phantasmal dreams, storing interaction in your memory banks. They are only a half-life to how you perceive them.

And they are one thing in your mind, then another, then another... and reconstituted as “dreams.” But life is the Wide-Awake Dream. Sometimes nightmare.

Quantum physics lays out the “chain of beingness” that begins at molecules, proceeds through atomic particulates, to protons, neutrons, electrons, quarks, and neutrinos. Where does it end? It's like pixels that illustrate a Divine Image, is it not? But look close enough, see the illusion for what it is—the business of energy combining, recombining into solid form; never to be dispelled, only to alter its substance and recreate its whole.

Illusion. The “Real World,” as opposed to what we say is possible and impossible. “Oh,” says the Skeptic, self-assured in his delusion that a “reality” that can blink out—literally, instantaneously—is somehow “stable.” “It just can't be!”

But it is. And, in an instant, even that can be rendered NO MORE. The heart stops beating. The lights go out. Respiration ceases. This ALL that encompasses everything you've ever known instantly blinks out to darkness. And, in that darkness? Something lurking. Waiting. The All-Seeing Eye. The One That Knows.

And waits.

Ciao, baby.

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