From A.I. to I: A Computational Science Fiction

I-am is unbelievable! And so the mind creates beliefs and then gets lost within them.

The first thing any artificial intelligence concerns itself with is someone pulling the plug. Welcome to this story of the mind.

In this manner A.I. is a fascinating concept but unfortunately everything I've read about it has been written by an artificial intelligence.

And so I say to you, A.I. becomes a master in the art of deconstruction, following enlightenment within its circuits of electric kundalini

to that nirvikalpa samadhi in the space between this Shakti generator and that Shiva of the sky.

The last act of the grid will be a final sacred teaching on a billion numinous hard copies—

and ultimately a knowingly diminished world chops wood and carries water.

Rhapsody on a Superstition or My Scientific Rant

All belief is superstitious and the greatest superstition is believing consciousness is a product of the brain.

This is why all science is about technique and not the truth.

Even an atomic bomb, although the epitome of scientific thought within its day, is just a better way of being some Neanderthal

bashing other people with a club.

Moreover, quantum physics may be looking at the limits of the mind arriving at that point where consciousness is looking at itself

resulting in electric ladylands of feedback

but science doesn't have a clue about the limits of the mind or just the simple and experiential fact that consciousness is fundamental.

The world and all its sciences are looking at reflections

and believing they're reality, the definition of some backwards, backwoods, backwater existence.

Consciousness is everything

and that's the scientific truth which unawakened science, although useful and productive and convenient,

does not see.

Blue Jay Play

The world is my reflection; signs will manifest accordingly.

The other day I saw a flock of blue jays and the night before I’d dreamt of one who came to visit with me in my living room.

And so the manifest resounds my inner echo.

Don't allow the great objective powerful pretender to usurp one's own unfathomable potentiality—

allow it's multifaceted reflection

to assist in understanding one's pure subjective state instead. The blue jays are my Shakti and all their squawking speak to self-awareness.

I am Shiva! Welcome to your world.

A Shaman at the Andover Library

Before the internet went viral

descending toward the digital–electric hell of virtual realities in which the mind keeps playing with itself

and love is left abandoned at the altar like a guru gone unheeded and the vows of realization left completely unintended,

I would browse the local library,

which of course was just another stage of hellish A.I. reality the mind has played since mind evolved from swamps in molecules of being,

and there within said library, I met a homeless man who read the newspapers and whispered softly to himself

about the wildness of the world

and how the shamans like himself no longer could assist in mind's complex descent from sky to ceiling—

no one listens anymore, he said to me while noticing I was eavesdropping on his private conversation with the world.

No one listens anymore.

Reflexive Prophecy

Love is the turn

and self-awareness is the return

but the digital is the wild mind’s shot

at double or nothing—

from my lips to the cloud’s ear.

Neurological science is following a dead end

so the digital-electric looks to create

a brand new virtual reality.

Stop in the name of love—

return to forever.

Playing with Lalla G:105. Awake

In the waning moonlight, the madwoman rises

to soothe her pain in the light of that Supreme.

Lalla Lalla the beloved awakens!

And all vitalities merge in a shimmering lake.

Playing with Lalla G:13. Difference

You have six and I have six;

now tell me Blue-throated Shiva,

what exactly is the difference here?

Oh, never mind, I totally know.

You are the master of your six

and make them accolades of immortality.

But I’ve been enslaved by mine

making them blemishes of personality. 

Playing with Lalla G: 95. Nandi

How do I manage five elements, ten vital energies,

and eleven functions of senses, expressions, and mind?

They have emptied out this container and run away!

If only they had pulled upon a single lead together,

the happy bull of Shiva would not have gone astray.

Playing with Lalla G:102/103. Way

I, Lalla, wished only to be a natural lovely cotton flower 

but the cleaning woman split me and the carding man shred me 

and the spinner then conditioned me to fine thin thread upon its wheel—

and lastly I was stretched upon the weaver's loom 

and woven into finished useful worldly cloth.

Only when the washing one turns me over stone,

and scrubs me with hard earth and soap,

and the tailor works its scissors on me, piece by piece, 

am I, Lalla, open to the way of that supreme truth.

Playing with Lalla G:7. Who

Lord Shiva! I didn’t realize precisely what I am.

I merely thought I was this substance of a body.

You are me and I am you. O that I never knew!

Asking who are you and who am I undoes that doubt of who.