process philosophy — Gnomon

There is a realm of happenings, not things,
For ‘things’ don’t remain the same on time’s wings.
What remains through time are processes—
Relations between different systems.

The solid world dissolves beneath time’s gaze,
As atoms dance their quantum-shifting ways;
What seems so fixed is but a moment’s pause
In endless flow through change’s shifting maze.

That mountain standing proud against the sky?
A slow upheaval still continuing by;
No static thing, but process caught in time—
A verb of stone that seems a noun to eye.

Your body too, that seems so firmly yours,
Is but a pattern passing through time’s doors;
Each cell replaced, each atom slipping past,
While form alone its seeming self restores.

The river that you step in’s never same,
Though bearing still its one unchanging name;
Not water fixed, but pattern flowing on,
As process keeps its shape but shifts its frame.

What we call things are but the meeting place
Where different systems cross in time and space;
The dance between them is what truly lasts,
While substance slips away without a trace.

A tree is not a thing but living flow
Of soil to leaf, of root to branch’s glow;
A conversation ‘tween the earth and sky,
Where sunlight turns to shadow far below.

Your thoughts themselves are not fixed things that stay,
But rivers running through the mind’s display;
Each moment births the next in endless stream,
As consciousness flows on its changing way.

Even love itself’s no static state of heart,
But dynamic dance where souls take partner’s part;
A verb of joining, never fixed noun,
As two lives weave together, never part.

The universe entire’s a vast array
Of processes that merge and split each day;
No things exist save in our human speech—
Reality’s a dance that won’t stay.

So grasp not at the shadows of fixed forms,
Nor seek for substance in time’s changing storms;
The truth lies in relationships that flow
As systems meet and part in endless swarms.

How hard though for consciousness to be conscious of itself; conscious of the inner space that contains everything one might be conscious of. — unenlightened

Like sitting in the back row, watching the play go by, or watching one's thoughts pass by from the next level.

Part 5 (final part)

Consider how Decision’s moment flows:
The brain computes before awareness knows;
Yet consciousness can help set parameters
By which subconscious wisdom makes its shows.

(More, as meaning rumination)

Like fractals building patterns ever new,
Each conscious moment holds a nested view;
The brain creates complexity from simple rules,
As awareness emerges from the crew.

(But a very complex process)

In Evolution’s laboratory vast,
Consciousness proved its worth in ages past;
For those who could model future scenes
Found better paths than those who moved too fast.

(Good, but reactive people may need to slow down)

The Mirror test reveals the self-aware,
As consciousness learns itself to declare;
Yet even this awareness comes too late,
The brain already knowing who is there.

(Only ever the just past is shown; no present)

Some philosophers would consciousness deny,
Call it illusion, or a useful lie;
But process needs no substance to be real—
Ask any wave that moves beneath the sky.

(Daniel Dennett)

The Mystery remains, yet science shows
How brain-process to conscious knowing flows;
Each year we map more territories true
Of how awareness comes and goes.

(Soon, others can read your mind)

Perhaps no final answer we shall find
To bridge the gap ‘tween matter and the mind;
Yet in the seeking lies our nature’s crown:
Consciousness studying its own kind.

(Information is dual as both matter and mind?)

When Artificial Minds begin to rise,
Will consciousness emerge before our eyes?
Or will there only be a zombie’s dance,
Raw computation wearing thought’s disguise?

(Artificial Inteligence)

For how can we be certain what is felt
By other minds where consciousness has dwelt?
The hard problem doubles when we seek
To know if silicon can awareness melt.

(Functionalism)

In Meditation’s depths some masters claim
That consciousness transcends the mortal frame;
Yet every altered state that they describe
Still needs a brain to light awareness’ flame.

(Actually, quietude in ID center and body boundary)

The Quantum theorists would consciousness bind
To wave collapse and measurement combined;
Yet macro-scale coherence can’t survive
In neural warmth of any human mind.

(Need a brain freeze from eating ice cream)

Some see consciousness spread through all that is,
Pan-psychic dreams of universal bliss;
But process needs complexity to rise,
And rocks hold not the patterns consciousness miss.

(Electron thinks: which way should I go?)

When Artists shape new visions from the void,
Is consciousness the master they employed?
Or does it merely watch the neural dance
Of creativity otherwise deployed?

(Are we the dancer or the danced upon?)
(What should I do? The universe does you!)

The Moral sense that guides us right from wrong,
Does consciousness conduct that ancient song?
Or does it only witness what arose
From neural circuits judging all along?

(Nature and nurture)

Consider too how consciousness must grow
Through childhood’s dawn, as neural patterns flow;
Each year brings richer awareness to the mind,
As brain-complexity continues to show.

(Teen-age brains may show some temporary ‘insanity’)

Some species share consciousness with our kind,
While others leave awareness far behind;
The octopus thinks thoughts we cannot know,
While beetles march with simpler states assigned.

(Got to roll that dung!)

In Cultures spread across Earth’s fertile face,
Each finds in consciousness a different grace;
Some see it as the cosmic force divine,
While others mark its neural time and place.

(A soul?)

When Lovers meet and consciousness combines,
Do qualia cross over normal lines?
Or does each brain remain forever sealed,
While empathy suggests deeper designs?

(Yes)

The Future holds more mysteries in store,
As neuroscience opens door by door;
Will consciousness reveal its secrets all,
Or keep some riddles hidden evermore?

(All will be revealed in time)

When Brain-Computer Interfaces bloom,
Will consciousness expand beyond its room?
Or will it stay confined to brain-process,
While external aids play progress’s tune?

(We will become as Large Language models)

In Aging’s slow descent we sometimes find
That consciousness grows dim as neurons bind;
Yet wisdom often deepens with the years,
As if awareness grows more refined.

(The wise old man or woman)

The Social Web that links all human minds
Creates a meta-consciousness that binds;
Yet each brain holds its private theater still,
While sharing what the conscious mind assigns.

(Memes)

Perhaps in Time we’ll map the neural code
That gives rise to consciousness’ episode;
Yet knowing how may never tell us why
Awareness lights the brain’s abode.

(Quantum mental fields?)

I don't have the time to watch that video — Arcane Sandwich

With great singing:

End of History — Arcane Sandwich

Part 4

When damage strikes some portion of the brain,
See how consciousness shifts its domain;
Like water finding new paths to the sea,
Neural plasticity rebuilds again.

(Consciousness directly reflects the brain)

In meditation’s deep and centered space,
We sometimes catch consciousness face-to-face;
The watcher and the watched at last revealed
As brain-processes moving through their grace.

(Remove thoughts; meditation is not what you think!)

Each qualia—each taste of wine or tea,
Each sunset’s glow, each song’s sweet melody—
Emerges from the brain’s translation true
Of raw reality we cannot see.

(Phenomena from Noumena)

The hardest problem still remains unsolved:
How neural fire to conscious thought evolved;
What bridge connects the objective brain
With subjective experience resolved?

(The Hard Problem)

Perhaps we seek a ghost that never was,
Questioning consciousness and all its laws;
When brain-process and awareness merge as one,
The mystery dissolves without a cause.

(Basic property?)

Yet still we feel the weight of being here,
Of knowing that we know, of thinking clear;
Though consciousness arrives a moment late,
Its presence makes our human nature dear.

(Second level view of first level thought)

When Memory opens up its golden door,
Consciousness weaves past moments as before;
Yet what we think we purely recollect
Is reconstruction from the neural store.

(Prions hold memory stable, yet it can fade/change)

Each reminiscence that we hold so true
Is fabricated, mixed, and born anew;
The brain invents to fill each memory’s gaps,
While consciousness presents the seamless view.

(Can change from being accessed)

In Sleep’s dark realm, see consciousness transform,
As neural patterns shift from waking norm;
Dreams rise like bubbles from the depths below,
While reason’s captain sleeps amid the storm.

(The brain is not fully functioning)

The Child’s mind shows consciousness unfold,
As neural networks worth their weight in gold
Build representations ever more complex,
Till self-awareness blooms from patterns old.

(Linear details scanned; overall view done in parallel)

Mark how Attention’s spotlight roams the stage,
Selecting what consciousness will engage;
While countless neural processes compete,
One winner claims the mind’s illumined page.

(Many simpleton ‘minds’ competing for attention)

The Social Brain evolved this conscious art
To model others’ minds and take their part;
Through consciousness we simulate their thoughts,
And navigate the human heart.

(Empathy)

Some say the Self is but a useful tale
That consciousness spins like a ship’s bright sail;
A story that the brain tells to itself,
To chart a course through life’s tempestuous gale.

(Having future is foremost: as survival)

When altered states through drug or trance descend,
See how reality and dreamtime blend;
As neural patterns shift their normal course,
Consciousness follows where these changes tend.

(Faithful mirror of the brain)

The Language centers weave their grammar’s spell,
Creating inner voices that can tell
The stories of our consciousness stream,
Though deeper currents run beneath the well.

(The currents’ result appears as being current)

Well, like I said, I think I've earned the right to have my own, unorthodox, and unique interpretation of the allegory of the cave. — Arcane Sandwich

My video of it:



Magic Shadow-Show

For in and out, above, about, below,
‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
- Omar

Like shadows cast on Plato’s ancient wall,
We dance to music we cannot recall,
While truth itself stays hidden from our sight,
Behind the curtain of perception’s hall.

The mind that thinks it grasps reality
Holds only shapes of possibility,
As children clutch at shadows on the grass,
Not knowing what above them they might see.

What lies behind the screen of time and space?
What hidden light projects each human face?
We see the dance but not the dancer’s form,
The effect but not the cause of nature’s grace.

The universe spins like a cosmic wheel,
Where what we touch is not the thing that’s real;
The chair, the stone, the star above our heads—
All shadows of a truth we cannot feel.

Yet in this play of light and shifting shade,
Some wisdom still may guide the choices made:
Though all be seeming, seeming still contains
The truth for which our seeking hearts have prayed.

For if we’re shadows, still we cast our own,
And in our dancing make our presence known;
Though substance slip beyond our mortal grasp,
Our phantom steps leave footprints in the stone.

The Box of space-time holds our brief display,
While stars and atoms through their patterns sway;
Perhaps the greatest truth is simply this:
To dance our shadow-dance with grace today.

And though we cannot pierce the veil of things,
Nor see what moves the puppet master’s strings,
Still in the beauty of the shadow-show
Some echo of the eternal mystery rings.

We are phenomena’s projected face,
Well-painted from noumena’s unseen base;
It’s as a lamp lights up a paper shade,
We figures revolving around in space.

Our being blocks the view of the Ultimate,
Nor to gaze at it can we our selves acquit.
Ev’n the wise can’t step beyond their nature—
All mothers’ sons stand helpless before it.

This wheel of heaven, which makes us all afraid, 
I liken to a lamp’s revolving shade, 
The sun the candlestick, the earth the shade, 
And men the trembling forms thereon portrayed.

We are magic lanterns shining here; 
Our spirits are the lights in there.
From what bright star came the gleam in your eyes? 
From what distant sun came your smile, light-wise?

Come, light your lantern and mine with good cheer;
We’re magic lamps; our spirits dance in here.
Our beginnings and ends are of nowhere,
So, let’s radiate, since for now we’re here!

Which of the following is more worthwhile:
The rainbow or the gold under its smile?
Well, the rainbow is here and now; the pot
May not turn out to be worth the miles.

Our minds and senses interpret and dispense
The base reality into the colors and sensations
Of the phenomenal world from the noumenal;
We may become either rainbows or ugly stains!

Mind, like Shelley’s prism of many-colored glass,
Strains the white radiance of Eternity
Into our being—until death tramples us—
And then back we must go—to stardust.

Not really my cup of tea — Arcane Sandwich

Coffee is not my cup of tea.

The Religious Convention

I looked in on the Two and Seventy Sects,
And heard but the Karma of the Barking Dogma:
Some Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, and Jews
Wondered what stories they should choose.

Even though they’d already so many chosen,
They just didn’t want to keep notions so frozen;
So they met to merge the postulations into one,
Thinking that this might be a whole lot of fun.

“In our hypothesis, there is just the only One.”
“Well, our conception is a multitude of many Some.”
“Well, we’ll part way meet: there’s only the Holy One”
“Nah, the odds of that are over three million to one!”

“Buddha of us was one, so of Gods there are none;
A human above all that now’s not seen by the sun!”
“Humph! Holy Jesus of our one God was His son!
He lit mankind’s darkness with light of the Sun!”

“No, Jewish Jesus was not of any nature Divine,
But was just a mere man much ahead of his time.
This you all should know, being there at the time.
Look at our history singing old biblical rhymes.”

“All is not real, so what is this great big fuss?
Retreat back to where it’s all at to slow the rush.”
“Oh God’s universe and creatures are so real
And that is why we’re making this very big deal.”

“In the afterlife, we in Hell or Heaven reside.”
“Not so fast, for in between these realms we lie,
And if you in this testing life don’t do so well,
You’ll have so many subhuman tales to tell.”

Reason arrived: “Possibility reigned way then back
‘Before’; there’s nothing even holy about all that.
‘Tis all made up, those many fabrications made,
So just let it all be, for this is what existence bade.”

Part 3

No gaps appear within this seamless flow,
Though consciousness must come and sometimes go;
Like movie frames run swift before our eyes,
Create illusion of continuous show.

(Very high sight resolution, at least in the center)

Each aspect thus contributes to the whole
Of consciousness’s grand, mysterious role:
Compositional, Intrinsic, Informed,
Integrated, Exclusive in its soul.

(Therein lies it nature)

Together these create the mirror bright
In which the world reveals itself to sight;
Though physics charts the cosmos vast and deep,
Consciousness alone can hold its light.

(Ah, light within a dark head)

The brain translates raw reality’s face
To sound and color, taste, and touch’s grace;
Consciousness mirrors brain-activity,
As neural patterns weave through time and space.

(It paints a better, more useful face)

From nerve to spine to brain’s encrypted code,
Consciousness threads throughout its whole abode;
A way to act within imagination,
Before committing to action’s road.

(From the nerve spindles everywhere…)

While Physics charts external cause and rule,
Consciousness exists as nature’s jewel:
Intrinsic, whole, composed of many parts,
Yet unified beyond reduction’s tool.

(Seems irreducible, perhaps fundamental)

It serves distinction’s evolutionary need,
Though causing naught save in its own thought-deed,
For being, not for doing, is its realm,
While intelligence guides action’s seed.

(It appears to exist only for itself)

The posterior cortex holds the key,
For only here must consciousness still be;
With feedback loops that bind the fragments whole,
Creating unity that lets us see.

(Feedback ‘magic’)

This wholeness forms consciousness direct and clear,
A process fundamental, nature’s peer;
Or else it speaks the brain’s symbolic tongue,
Translating neural code to meaning near.

(Are qualia the language of the mind?)

This Whole speaks outward, sharing mind with mind,
While brain-states learn what consciousness designed;
So subconscious regions can then know
The unified awareness thus defined.

(A global broadcast?)

The brain’s grand theatre stages its display,
While consciousness arrives too late to sway
The plot already written, yet feels real—
Director of a film from yesterday.

(Seems to be happening live)

And thus we end where first our tale began:
In brain’s deep halls where consciousness first ran,
A process bound in flesh, yet seeming free,
Reflecting on itself since we began.

(Consciousness evolved)

Consider now Time’s arrow and its flight:
How consciousness lags reality’s height;
While neural networks race beneath our view,
We float upon their wake in conscious light.

(Skiing like)

Each moment that we think we’re choosing new
Has already been settled through and through;
The brain decided ere we knew to choose,
Our feeling of free will a time-skewed clue.

(The fixed will of the instant)

Like ripples spreading on a neural pond,
Each thought-wave touches shores that lie beyond;
The conscious mind may claim to rule alone,
Yet unconscious depths hold wisdom’s bond.

(In the repertoire)

In dreams we glimpse this truth most clear of all,
When consciousness lets its firm barriers fall;
The hidden brain spins tales we think we guide,
While neural pattern-makers weave our thrall.

(As well was from brain ‘noise’)

Mark how the senses each their tale relate:
Sight, sound, and touch combine to integrate;
Yet consciousness binds all to unity,
Though scattered brain-realms must collaborate.

(The orchestra plays as one)

What seems a single stream of thought sublime
Is orchestra of brain-realms keeping time;
Each player adds its note to consciousness,
Till harmony emerges from their chime.

(Conducting itself like a band)

Did you write those quatrains yourself — Arcane Sandwich

Yes!

They tried to undo evolution’s pace of snails,
But the stratified fossils ever told the tales
Of no special humans at once unveiled
But of only natural selection’s weathered sails.

Myth’s performance is now over its tasks;
The artists have taken off their masks.
The illusion is fading; it couldn't last;
The scenes behind are appearing fast.

I have some reservations — Arcane Sandwich

OK, table for two.

The stodgy elevation of doctrine over ethics
Will no longer carry the day, and there will be less
Emphasis on believing, with more on belonging.
All will become more democratic, with much singing.

The Bible will be seen to be of but human construction,
A result of human instinct, frailty, fear, and no wisdom;
Thus all actively speaking to another, with laughter,
Will come to replace the passive readings from scripture.

(Sea You in Hell) — PoeticUniverse

OK, see you there!

And as the Bells fell silent, those who fled
The Mosque laughed out—“Now bolt fast the door!
You know how long we have to dance and play,
And once in Hell, may revel evermore!”

Part 2

Behold Consciousness in all its parts,
How structured layers form from scattered starts;
Each distinction clear as mountain streams,
Yet flowing to one sea of human arts.

(Distinction par excellance!)

First mark how Composition builds its throne
From many elements, not one alone;
Like letters forming words, then sentences,
Till meaning rises from the parts well-shown.

(A kind of consciousness’ alphabet unto literature)

As bricks and mortar rise to mansion fair,
So consciousness builds castles in the air;
Each phenomenal distinction placed
With architect’s precision, layer by layer.

(What a filmmaker!)

Intrinsic next, as personal as breath,
As intimate as life, as close as death;
No borrowing this sense of ‘only mine’,
This ownership no other self can theft.

(Yours alone)

Independent it stands, yet bound within,
Like sovereignty that needs no foreign kin;
A kingdom of the self, complete and whole,
Where every thought knows where it should begin.

(King of the World)

Then Information flows, precise and clear,
Each detail rendered faithfully sincere;
No vague approximations cloud this lens,
Each particle of thought crystal-clear.

(Extreme clarity)

Particular and specific it stays,
No general musings cloud its focused gaze;
Like archer’s arrow seeking only one
Sweet target through perception’s misty haze.

(Focused)

Integration weaves its seamless whole
From scattered threads of being’s varied scroll;
Though brain-regions far and wide contribute,
One unified experience is their goal.

(All for one)

No longer can this wholeness be reduced
To simpler parts, once unity’s produced;
Like water from its elements combined,
A new thing altogether is induced.

(True emergence? Or Fundamental?)

Exclusivity sets boundaries clean:
No more, no less than what is truly seen;
Each conscious moment perfectly defined,
No fuzzy edges blur what contents mean.

(Nothing extra)

See how Mental Unity holds its ground,
Though neural sources scatter all around;
Like many instruments in symphony,
Creating one magnificent sound.

(The Magnificat!)

The brain’s divided regions all conspire
To forge one field of consciousness entire;
Though specialists in different corners toil,
One unified experience they inspire.

(What a symphony!)

As Qualia paint their colors rich and strange,
The felt-sense qualities that ever range
From red of rose to taste of morning dew,
As consciousness gives meaning to each change.

(Physical neurological to experiential qualia)

These qualities that only minds can know—
The sunset’s beauty, coffee’s warming glow—
Are consciousness’s artist’s palette pure,
From which all lived experience must flow.

(All one ever encounters is the inside of the head)

Continuity then stitches time’s swift stream
Into one flowing, ever-changing dream;
Though moments pass like birds across the sky,
Their passage forms one motion, or would seem.

(A great video editor)

So, what makes these particular clues, hints, central to the question of what consciousness is? — T Clark

They bring many points together that might not be apparent to some, such as consciousness being a brain process, its non-causalness, and such, as so far found as not-so-easy questions answered, in order to better approach the Hard Problem of How it 'magically' mirrors neurological information.

Poem stanzas are useful as stand-alone points that give the reader a short break for digestion, which issn't always the case when reading plain text running on and on.

What are the other aspects? To me it's 100% theology, but I could be wrong. — Arcane Sandwich

Some of it is about tribal history.

Time to perk up the thread; here's my new Bible:

I don't believe that God is made of matter; otherwise, God would be visible to us. That also applies to spiritual agents. — MoK

Or some believers have Invisibility Disorder of imaginary friends.

If the Moon is made of cheese — Corvus

The moon is dusty and full of craters; that's what happens when you leave cheese out!

He is either the subject of destruction because of aging or He can live forever. — MoK

The eternal God already has OldTimer's disease, for He can't recall His earliest memory!

Your criticisms and input as always are welcome. — MoK

P2) Experience is due to the existence of physical and the change in the state of physical is due to the existence of an experience

When the subconscious physical neurological analysis completes, consciousness experiences the result, which experience becomes an input to the physical neurological, updating (changing) its state, qualia-wise, as well as already having an updated state from producing a result, then more analysis happens, and so forth.

The physical also directly understands what goes into the experience, in its own terms, since it is what made it, which suffices, in case of there being no qualia experience global broadcast to it.

C1) Therefore, physical and experience cannot be the cause of their own change because of overdetermination (from P1 and P2)

Rather, each is the cause of the other, in turn, sequentially.

P3) The experience is not a substance so it cannot be the cause of physical

Conscious experience comes too late in the process to be causing anything directly, but, it seems that indirectly it could be used for future input to what subconscious analysis comes next, or it should simpler be that the subconscious analysis just keeps on going forward, for it depends on what the internal language of the brain is (such as if qualia are a kind of short-cut language).

In either case, all the happenings would seem to be physical, although there is still the Hard Problem to figure out, yet we still know that the physical is always followed by the experiential of it, as if information always exists in those two ways, and so it is already a feat accomplished by the brain.

When you are looking for the ontological status of time — Corvus

The Eterne’s motion dooms forms’ permanence;
But, the patient time til their expiration
Restrains for awhile the shapes’ destructance;
Thus they can slowly traverse life’s distance.

Energy is a beauty and a brilliance,
Flashing up in its destructance,
For everything isn’t here to stay its “best”;
It’s merely here to die in its sublimeness.

Like slow fires making their brands, it breeds,
Yet ever consumes and moves on, as more it feeds,
Then spreads forth anew, this unpurposed dispersion,
An inexorable emergence with little reversion,

Ever becoming of its glorious excursions,
Bearing the change that patient time restrains,
While feasting upon the glorious decayed remains
In its progressive march through losses for gains.

Not really. Plato is 4D, through and through. — Arcane Sandwich

Yes, you're right; I goofed.

From my 'Now Here; No-Where':

…but where did this block come from? From what quarry was it excavated?”

“It was built in what to us would be all at once in the 5th dimension, lest it take forever to be completed, again, just to us.”

“Well, even just building a never-ending determinate block that only has a specific past and a certain future is a tremendous accomplishment, what with the foreseeing of every eventuality on forward from the Big Bang unto forever, especially the finishing of it in time, which was done even in our shortest time.”

“I told you it was fantastic.”

“But all its paths are fixed—pre-determined.”

“What matters where, what, when, or even who? In life’s fill, any narrative will do.”

“Well, true, but we’ve only just seen the near future and the near past; can you zoom out into the next dimension and show me a larger view.”

“Sure.”

She enlarged our view point, which was really a kind of condensing. I felt an uneasy shift.

“Ugh, Holy Cripes, I see things like tube-worms that begin with a fetus and end with a corpse. Oh, horrors!”

“Those are the world lines of you and everyone.”

“Quick, get rid of it; take me through my own world line, such as like a home movie run on fast forward.”

“OK, here we go. It will be such as just before you die when your whole life flashes before you just ahead of your merging into the timelessness of the great block externe. It’s the 5th dimensional wonder of the Universe.”

“Wait; there’s life after death in this block?”

“Everything in it exists forever. Rejoice, but your goose was cooked long ago, your future eggs laid ‘fore you were aglow.”

And so I saw myself being conceived—yuck, and then as a baby, a toddler, a young boy, an adolescent, and so forth, unto laying on a beach in Tahiti, then the djinni appearing…”

“Wait, stop it; I don’t want to know my future that is carved as dogma into this gargantuan tablet, upon which I’ve already had a glimpse of my cadaver.”

durations, intervals, — Corvus

Time moves in steps, not flowing smooth and free,
Each Planck-length jump too small for eyes to see;
No infinite division saves the hare
From catching up with Zeno’s theory.

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.

(There is a blending)

If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.

(Block universe)

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.

(Good for testing out possible scenarios, but what actually happens trumps 'could have')

What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

(Same as the previous)

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

(Similar also)
— Corvus

Memory’s ideas recall the last heard tone,
Sensation savors what is presently known,
Imagination anticipates coming sounds—
The delight is such that none could produce alone.

Time flies and so does fruit.
What flies? Fruit flies. — Arcane Sandwich

Time flies like a bird and fruit flies like a banana. (If you believe in 'time-flies' insects.)

That sounds like nonsense. — Arcane Sandwich

But it is analogous nonsense. Plato had 2D and 3D going on.


Back to the Biblical, which I like to write about, for it is epic:

NEWS FLASH - Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory have been found!

Original:

“Where in the Woe is Purgatory’s bane?”
Purgatory’s on Venus, where sulfurs rain.
“Where in the Heck is that deep Hell of pain?”
Hell’s found in the sun’s heart, oh hot burning pain!

“Where in the name of Heaven is Paradisea?”
 Of Heaven’s site no one has any idea—
“Really now, where’s Heaven, one and the same?”
It’s the world’s best kept secret: Earth is its name!

“Yes, that’s said, but truly, where is the stead…”
I must tell of them that they’re only read;
“…Of those places spent after we are dead?”
It’s written of words that language bred.

“‘Twas hope-word that invented All that was said?”
‘Twas these that were signed for anything Divine ‘said’.

Expanded:

The Word—The Leanings and The Gleanings

“Where in the Woe is Purgatory’s bane?”
Through stellar depths where ancient questions reign?
Purgatory’s found on Venus’ shore,
Where sulfuric clouds weep acid rain.

“Where in the Heck burns Hell’s eternal flame?”
What cosmic forge could bear that fearsome name?
Hell blazes in the Sun’s consuming heart,
Where plasma storms put demons to shame.

“Where floats fair Heaven in the cosmic sea?”
Where might that blessed realm of promise be?
Of Heaven’s true location in the stars,
No sage or saint has found the master key.

“But surely Paradise must have its place?”
Some garden hanging in ethereal space?
The answer lies beneath your weary feet:
Earth cradles Heaven in its green embrace.

“These mapped-out realms of blessing and of curse,
These spheres divine that prophets did rehearse—
Are they but metaphors in sacred text?”
They’re word-built worlds within our universe.

“When ancient eyes gazed at the starry night,
Did they see paths to realms of dark and light?”
They read the Cosmos like a sacred scroll,
Where human hopes could take celestial flight.

“The worlds above of torment and of grace,
Each carefully assigned its proper place—
Were these but dreams of what comes after death?”
They’re stories writ on Time’s eternal face.

“What power then invented Hell below
And Heaven’s heights where blessed souls might go?”
’Twas language spun these realms of aftermath,
These destinations every heart would know.

“Was hope the author of these Cosmic spheres,
These destinations for our joys and fears?”
The human word gave birth to divine worlds,
To chart the path beyond our mortal years.

“Do modern eyes, which map the cosmic deep,
Still find these realms where souls their vigil keep?”
We’ve found no golden gates or fiery pits,
But mystery still makes the Cosmos weep.

“Then what remains of all these ancient signs,
These carefully drawn theological lines?”
They live within the metaphors we speak,
Where human truth with cosmic truth combines.

“So are they real, these places of the soul?”
These destinations, are they true and whole?
They’re real as love, as hope, as human dreams—
In hearts they live, though space-time takes its toll.

“What final wisdom can these words impart
About the realms that tear the world apart?”
The universe within the human mind
May prove more vast than any stellar chart.

Time flies, in a figurative sense, when you're having a good time.
Time is slow, when you're going through some tough times. — Arcane Sandwich

Now you're a poet, too.

As when Einstein had sat next to a pretty girl and had noted the much quicker passage of time, over the slower passage of his instant of touching a hot stove.

Plato's cave allegory — Arcane Sandwich

More like that we are 3D shadows of the 4D Block universe.

Bring your favorite poets to this discussion, quote Emily D. for all I care. — Moliere

Emily is my third cousin, twice removed, but she kept coming back.

Greatest part from the series:

None of that is art. It may look like art, but it isn't art. — Arcane Sandwich

Real art:

An oxymoron. Machines are incapable of creating art, because they are art themselves. — Arcane Sandwich

more great AI art:

A.I. art is worthless, friend. — Arcane Sandwich

Great AI art:

the Elfin Queen — Arcane Sandwich

Eden's Queen?

God offered Adam a perfect version of woman,
One who would even paint ceilings, cut grass…
But this would have cost Adam an arm and a leg.
So Adam said, ‘What can I get for just a rib?’

God smiled and said, “Well, for economy class,
You’ll get someone who might occasionally pass
The remote, share some pizza, but won’t clean the cave—
And good luck getting her to mow any grass.”

“How about throwing in some basic repairs?”
Adam haggled. “Someone who at least cares
If the fig leaves need mending?” God shook his head:
“That’s the deluxe package—costs way more shares.”

“Could I perhaps get a trial period?”
Asked Adam, while God’s patience slightly showed.
“Three days to test?” “No returns,” God replied,
“And no exchanges once the rib has flowed.”

“But will she at least help tend Eden’s flowers?’
‘She’ll critique your technique for endless hours,
Then plant her own garden exactly her way.”
Adam sighed, watching his bargaining powers.

“Fine,” said Adam, ‘I’ll take what I can get.”
God grinned and said, “You won’t live to regret
This bargain basement deal—for that one rib,
You’ll get more than you know, my safe bet.”

The surgery done, Eve opened her eyes,
Looked at Adam’s bachelor paradise,
Said “This place needs a woman’s touch, my dear.”
And Paradise was never quite as nice.

You sound angry now. — Arcane Sandwich

I don't do anger; anger has no brains.

more:

The Echo

That Oxford day still echoes now,
Through halls where science makes its bow,
Reminding us how truth must fight
Through prejudice to show us how

Our origins, though humble found,
Need not our dignity confound—
For honest search for nature’s ways
Makes human wisdom more profound.

The Legacy

So let us mark that summer day
When wit met wit in verbal fray,
When Huxley faced the Bishop down
And evolution had its say.

For in that clash of old and new,
Of faith and fact, false views and true,
We see reflected still today
How progress must its path pursue.

And who stood up to wave that Book?
FitzRoy, who gave Darwin his first look
At nature’s laboratory vast—
The captain whom fate overtook.

For history’s threads weave strange designs
When paradigms cross boundary lines,
And those who help new truth emerge
May later wish for older signs.

Speaking of Divinity, we have it that Divine Inspiration is the source for the writing of the two foundational chapters of the Bible, Genesis 1 and Genesis 2, among other of the myriad claims layered upon the hoped-for Supernatural…

As evolution obliterates Eden's immutable human formation, 'Divine Inspiration's claim falls flat.

The Victorians and the rest of the world were shocked when the 'On the Origin of the Species' came out in 1859, quickly followed by the 'Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam'. 'Denial' was the best course of action for the wishers and the believers, as it still is today, somewhat, for church attendance is dropping, even in the once stable northeast.

The June 30, 1860 Showdown:
The Oxford Evolution Debate

The Setting

“Were we descended from some ape-like form?”
The question raised a scientific storm.
A thousand gathered in Oxford’s hall
To watch two worldviews wage their war.

The summer air hung thick with thought
As notables filled every spot,
Some seeking truth, some seeking sport,
In this debate so dearly bought.

The Opening

The Bishop of Oxford took the floor;
Samuel Wilberforce, skilled in verbal war,
His reputation built on wit
That often left opponents sore.

With eloquence he built his case
Against the notion of our race
Descending from some simian stock—
A thought he deemed a deep disgrace.

Then, turning with a practiced smile,
His rhetorical weapons honed with guile,
He fixed young Huxley in his sight
And launched his question, rank with bile:

“Pray tell us, sir, with candor true:
Which side of your family tree grew
The ape connection you so prize—
Grandmother’s branch, or grandfather’s view?”

The Response

Young Huxley, Darwin’s bulldog fierce,
Felt joy to hear attack so pierce—
To neighbor whispered, triumph-blessed,
“The Lord delivers, none can pierce!”

Then rising slow, with measured grace,
He turned to meet the Bishop’s face,
And launched a counterattack so sharp
It left eternal verbal trace:

“I’d rather claim an ape as kin,
Than one who’d use high office’s din
To mock scientific discourse thus—
Such rhetoric’s original sin!

“For truth cares not for social rank,
Nor holy office, purse or bank,
But follows evidence alone
Through paths both beautiful and frank!”

(Actually called it 'twaddle')

The Aftermath

The hall erupted, shock and rage
Competed on this Oxford stage,
As centuries of certain faith
Met Darwin’s revolutionary page.

Some ladies fainted, so they say,
While scholars shouted their dismay,
And through it all, one figure rose
To add more drama to the fray:

The Captain’s Moment

Admiral FitzRoy, who years before
Had captained Darwin ’round each shore,
Now raised his Bible overhead
And cried out from the chamber floor:

“The Book! The Book!” his voice rang clear,
As if to banish every fear
That evolution’s tide might bring—
The very tide he’d helped to steer.

Oh irony of fate’s design!
The man who’d sailed those seas so fine,
Who’d watched young Darwin gather proof,
Now stood against his grand design.

(The ship was named the Beagle)

Could anyone have made a different choice in the past than the ones they made? — Truth Seeker

Simply, there is no 'if' or 'different'; What actually happened trumps 'could have'.

My take on the Book of Revelation:

I would argue that no atheist book can be as good as a theist book, be it polytheist, monotheist, or pantheist. That, is Ibn Arabi's point. And that, is why such a book must be gifted. — Arcane Sandwich

It's anti-religious in parts, but that makes it to have a Biblical flavor, too, plus it has the Theory of Everything in it, as surpassing the Biblical.

Impressive task. Clearly, Omar Khayyam is to you what Mario Bunge is to me. — Arcane Sandwich

Yes, it will be a gift, a the greatest book ever made; 6400 pages of art and words, one set in 11x8.5 and one in 14x11, both on coated glossy paper. There are videos, too, but they need to be updated somewhat, although they are basically OK.

Are you familiar with this website? — Arcane Sandwich

Yes, it's mine. I'm almost done with an 8 volume set on the Rubaiyat and my extensions to it; then I guess I'll put PDFs of it there, or elsewhere, since no one could afford to buy it.

At some point we're going to need to talk about the Holy Spirit in this Thread. — Arcane Sandwich

“Bless your soul with tongues of fire; Holy Spirit burn;
Leave no trace of man’s desire; Holy Spirit turn.”