original

Tales of the World Tree

นักเขียน: SahariKempo

บท 1: I am all there is

I am all there is. Floating in a boundless ocean of emptiness, my senses had faded some time ago. The only thing that still proved my existence were the mere echoes of my thoughts.

Even though I was leaving everything I knew behind, I didn't feel sad.

Now, I can pursue the dream of fantasy I've had since childhood. I can live the life I had forsaken to carry a responsibility no one else shouldered. The design I had completed back then when I made the promise, perfected over five decades.

A Virtual Reality machine - so advanced and versatile it questions reality itself. One that can create a world where adventure and mystery are woven into its very fabric. A more thrilling world.

A second chance. To finally fulfill that promise.

I did not fear this empty and senseless state. After all, I designed it. In fact, I embraced it. No sensations meant no pain. Since the only thing that existed for me were the thoughts in my head, there was nothing to fear except my own mind. So I let it run free. The echoing cheers constantly fade as the still reluctant parts of me start to accept the end—or more accurately, the suspension—of my old life.

I traverse the library of my memories. The pictures of all those dear to me are picked from the flowing waters of my thinking mind and immortalized into the books of all that I know. One after the other, I gather the open books from the floor and tables, write the endnotes, and place them on the shelves. Once the floors and tables are cleared, and the shelves are neat and organized, I walk to the front door. I open it and step outside with a finalizing, dramatic movement, closing the door behind me.

I clear my mind and turn around. I no longer see the library, but I will always know where to find it. I start walking in no particular direction. I simply let my mind lead me. I let my beliefs and convictions fade into the most primal components of consciousness.

I feel the invisible hand of the simulating AI, the storyteller, guide my mind to an empty space of pure awareness, pure intent. This space is the pinnacle of modern technical psychology. Where philosophy and reality diverge. Here, the storyteller and my most personal parts of consciousness converse and decide on the world that will be constructed for me. What kind of world will perfect "me" in the most efficient way?

My imagination propels me forward. My mind conjures concepts, images, words, emotions, and sensations in ways that defy verbal expression. It blends these elements in search of an awareness that precisely mirrors my inner self. I perceive emotions, witness reality, and process thoughts through sensations. I hear the promises of scenarios suggested by the AI and feel them shift according to my subconscious reactions. These scenarios manifest in geometries I've never before encountered. Initially, they morph constantly, like an intense DMT trip.

As time marches on, certain elements begin to crystallize, becoming resolute and unwavering, much like the intricate interlacing of strings in a masterful weave. Yet these strings extend far beyond mere three-dimensional space, unfurling into a sprawling, multidimensional tapestry of motion. Each thread in this complex weaving reveals itself vividly to my senses, as though I am blessed with a unique vision to witness every aspect in all its intricate beauty and complexity simultaneously and strikingly. Focusing on any detail ignites a fusion of thought, image, sound, and emotion that perfectly encapsulates an idea.

I accept that clinging to my previous perception methods will prevent me from experiencing this fully. I place my trust in both my subconscious mind and the AI.

As the part of my mind that holds my ego lets go, my unconscious mind gives me a new view and the AI adapts to it. Now, I can see what is barely a concept. I can discern what comes from my imagination and what originates from the storyteller. Yet, my perception can handle more. With the teamwork of my unconscious mind and the storyteller, my whole consciousness, my soul, reveals itself to the storyteller. For a short time, I can sense a difference. The gap between what I am and what the storyteller is. But as the perceiver in the center of a spiral of sensations, I can't tell which feeling comes from which being. For this short time, I feel truly unpleasant sensations. Then, an agreement happens.

My perception reaches its limit and collapses. When I return my focus, I again see the multidimensional tapestry. This time it no longer moves. This time it makes sense. I understand it. And it gives me an overwhelming sense of purpose.

As I explore the ideas that the tapestry holds, I can see connections. Bridges between concepts. The tapestry changes to fit my idea of it. Where I see a bridge, a bridge forms. Where I see similarity, the tapestry becomes symmetric. The more it makes sense, the more I feel something is missing. Once the only thing that doesn't make sense is the concept that is missing, the missing concept starts to make sense. Just as shadow can only exist where there is light, something can only exist where there is nothing. And so the tapestry changes. Lines and pools of nothing giving meaning and emphasis to the space and geometry of something as water shapes land. As I contemplate the usefulness of nothing, I understand that nothing is also something. So what is true nothingness?

Looking for the answer, I understood the depth of what I thought was nothing. There doesn't only exist white and black but also different shades of gray in between. So I came to understand that nothing doesn't exist since the definition of non-existence is contradictory. If it exists, it isn't nothing. But then what is nothing? Madness overtakes me as I search for the answer to an impossible question.

Now the tapestry is a beautiful geometry of different shades of gray. And the greatest thing, the most colorful spot on the tapestry, is in the center where everything comes together. It calls me. It calls me to explore it. However, I don't want to—not yet, when I haven't even understood all there is in this tapestry. So I explore more shapes and different patterns. Asymmetry in symmetry and symmetry in asymmetry. Polarity and everything in between. For each geometry and each concept. And as my understanding of it grows, so does the tapestry expand. And so does the colorful spot in the middle, becoming ever more vibrant and enticing and unknown. But my curiosity for nothingness outweighs my interest in anything. I search for the edges of the tapestry. It overlaps and goes within itself, so there are no edges as a picture would have. There is no end to any line. Only a point and another point and the space between. I look for the zero between two numbers. Reality itself gets confused as I force more and more complicated questions onto it. And when I finally feel that I am reaching something new, a force pulls me back. The gravity of the center has become too great. The vibrance of it and the need to explore it starts to overcome my madness. Like a rubber band, every time I reach for the edge, the center pulls me back, harder each time.

I push against the pull and stretch the pattern to the thinnest slivers of gray. Only then can I see something. An edge! But not of everything. The edge of me. And then the disappointment makes me slip. I slide to the center. I fall into the vibrant center point.

From the center comes sensations. I feel blinded by light, deafened by unbelievable noise, and feel like someone is wiping my body with a million different textures. My mind goes blank. Or was it already blank? Confusion takes over me as I feel myself expand into a new shape. And the shape doesn't fit. And it hurts.

IT HURTS SO BAD!