A friend and I were talking about Tibetan Sand Paintings yesterday and how they showed impermanence. That lead to a discussion on creating the world and quantum mechanics, my current obsession. Some of what he said has been jangling around in my head (along with Paul Graham's Cities Essay) like a quarter in a Chuck E Cheese funnel. Jangle, circle, jangle, circle, balanced on the edge.
I saw the universe as lines of light. Energy moving across furrows. Like the strings of a bow on a violin. The silence sounded. Are we like that sound? Destined to follow the form of the note once it's created? I think not - (at least I'm living my life based that I can change that note once it has left the bow gods be damned). What about that moment hanging in time? Frozen. Silent. Until the light shines and effects motion? Like a coin in an arcade. Like clockwork. There are hints everywhere. Reminders. Does the machine (or the string that resonates to the energy) realize it's already done this before. That this is the programming? Does each time feel as new?
It's too early in the day to get this philosophical.
Which brings to mind a conversation with another friend. I was talking about lists and plans and we were discussing relationships. He said "She's not someone I could ever imagine" (In my response to "Just manifest someone else like her."). I thought about this for a moment - watching the traffic go through the intersection - looking at the sky - and thought about my own life. Yes, there are things that happen that you can't imagine. Things you can't plan. People you can't believe exist (I hope I am one of these people for myself.) The beauty of these things is in their authentic surprise. You can't plan that. You can only enjoy it for the moment - an infinite impermanent moment.
I'll leave you with this passage from Asimov's Prelude to Foundation, page 227 in the paperback edition. It's the end of Chapter of 43.
"What are they?"
"Dainties. Raw dainties. For the outside market they're flavored in different ways, but here in Mycogen we eat them unflavored -- the only way."
She put one in her mouth and said, "I never have enough."
Seldon put his sphere into his mouth and felt it dissolve and disappear rapidly. His mouth, for a moment ran liquid and then it slid, almost of its own accord, down his throat.
He stood for a moment, amazed. it was slightly sweet and, for that matter, had an even fainter bitter aftertaste, but the main sensation eluded him.
"May I have another?" he said.
"Have half a dozen," said Raindrop Forty-Three, holding out her hand. "They never have quite the same taste twice and have practically no calories. Just taste."
She was right. He tried to have the dainty linger in his mouth; he tried licking it carefully; tried biting off a piece. However, the most careful lick destroyed it. When a bit was crunched off a piece, the rest of it disappeared at onece. And each taste was undefinable and not quite like the one before.
"The only trouble is," said the Sister happily, "that every once in a while you have a very unusual one and you never forget it, but you never have it again either. I had one when I was nine--" Her expression suddenly lost its excitement and she said, "It's a good thing. It teaches you the evanescence of things of the world."
* photo by BlakJakDavy
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