The Unpretenders - Chapter 8

In the centre of the space was a circular platform, about the size of a tractor tyre, with gently sloping sides. It was black in colour, like everything else, and appeared to be organically integral to the room (as opposed to some sort of autonomous addition). Julian strode purposefully onto it, whilst Isobel and I, in the absence of any chairs, sat cross-legged on the strange, rubbery floor, which seemed to yield to our bottoms like memory foam. Julian then turned towards us and took a moment to compose himself, as if in preparation for a speech. He then extended his arms in greeting and welcomed us both to what he called a Morphinity Intronium Chamber. 

"Not a spaceship, then," said Isobel, seemingly disappointed.

Julian consoled her by explaining that even the best spaceships had their limitations, and could really only take passengers from A to B, within the known cosmos; whereas the Intronium, by contrast, could take a person anywhere they could conceive of. "Why?" he asked, rhetorically. "Because the Intronium is powered by consciousness itself."

"Which is what, exactly?" I enquired.

"Consciousness is the currency of God," he replied, with a distinctly passionate intonation. "Every being in existence has an appropriate supply of it. Most want more. Some lose even what they have. But don't think in terms of worldly money, because God's currency cannot be borrowed, stolen, taxed, hoarded or earnt."

"It can't be earnt?" I questioned. "That seems a little counterintuitive. I certainly know people, of a religious persuasion, who expect to be well rewarded for their actions in life." 

"Understand, Sophie. Nothing that a person does or doesn't do, with respect to their moral conduct, can increase their level of consciousness one iota. Rather, it's a person's level of consciousness which determines their moral conduct."

"Why though?"

"Because consciousness knows everything as itself. So to deliberately cause harm, whether to another being, or to the environment, or even to oneself, denotes an inherent lack of consciousness. Love, therefore, which is to know the other as oneself, without attachment, is actually our natural state of being, and denotes a high level of consciousness."

"So where am I on that scale?

"What's important is not so much where you are, but rather what trajectory you're on; whether you are moving inwards, towards truth, and love, and ever greater levels of consciousness; or whether you are moving outwards, deeper into the illusion, towards ever greater levels of suffering and unconsciousness. These two movements are what shape the duality you live in. But don't just accept what I'm saying. Determine the truth of the matter for yourself, if you dare."

"Dare? Interesting choice of word. Are you implying that I fear the truth?"

"Most people do. As Oscar Wilde so rightly said: If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."

"I guess Jesus was no comedian then."

"Jesus came right out with it, when he said: ye are gods!"

"Why is that a bad thing though? I mean, to be a god."

"Well, imagine no resistance to anything that you wanted or desired. How long do you think it would be before you got bored of that? Or imagine a world without drama, without challenges, where there was no mystery any more, nothing to do, nothing to discover, where nothing new or unexpected ever happened. For how long would you actually want to remain in such a world?"

"I don't know. Would there still be sense pleasures, and creativity?"

"Beyond your wildest dreams. But, remember, we're not talking about going on vacation here. We're talking about eternity."

"So, to summarise, you're saying that the problem is not one of finding paradise, but of accepting it; which means giving up all sorts of illusions, and recognising that there is ultimately only one of us here. You're saying that paradise is for those who are ready to leave the masquerade behind and stop pretending that they're something or someone other than God."

"Yes, basically. And if you feel yourself to be one of those, then it's time that you refamiliarized yourself with your own omnipotence."

"How?"

"Well, you can start by removing your shoes and socks."

"Uh-oh," said Isobel, holding her nose.

Ignoring her insinuation, I did as Julian had asked, and then followed his instruction to swap places with him on the platform, which he explained would serve as an interface between my consciousness and the surrounding space; that it would, in effect, amplify and broadcast my imagination throughout the chamber.

Needless to say, I found this prospect rather unnerving. "Don't worry," he chuckled, perhaps sensing my apprehension. "It will only respond to your words. The results would be too chaotic otherwise."

Julian then hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "But how can I see to read?" I complained, rustling my papers for all to hear.

"Use your imagination," he advised.

I really wasn't sure what he meant, at first, but then I remembered what I was apparently hooked up to, and decided to try it out.

"Let there be light," I declared, in a godly voice. And, sure enough, the entire chamber was instantly illuminated. Okay, so it wasn't the kind of glaring light that I was used to. And neither did it have a source, as such, meaning that there were no shadows. Instead, and rather beautifully, everything now appeared to have an inherent luminosity - including, most importantly, the pages of my essay.

I could feel my heart pounding as I proceeded to read the opening line: "Standing on the deck of my ship, I surveyed the watery expanse."

The effects of this banal sentence weren't just breathtaking, they were unbelievable. Isobel staggered to her feet in amazement. Although, from my perspective, she now appeared to be suspended in mid-air above the surface of a glistening ocean.

My attention then turned to the sun overhead, which was seemingly bright enough to create shadows, yet also easy on the eyes. This, I realised afterwards, was due to the absence of any causal relationship between the apparent sun and the apparent shadows, neither of which were real. In other words, my own mind was making a logical determination as to the likely position of shadows in relation to the position of the sun.

However, this also implied that the logic of my own mind wasn't ultimately real either, since it was based on nothing more than my experience of physical reality. As such, it was merely conditioning; a mental program, running in the background. The same program, in fact, that was responsible for the apparent reality of my dreams, even in the absence of physical objects and physical laws. This came as quite a revelation to me, at the time, and I started wondering how easy it would be to modify this program so that, for example, gravity worked in reverse, or shadows appeared in 3D rather than 2D. Because, certainly, had that been my experience of physical reality, then it would also have become my experience of dreams... and Morphinity Intronium Chambers.     

I was quite overwhelmed, in any case, by the stunning realism of the scene before me, which included many unspecified details, perfectly rendered in accordance with my unconscious expectations. My automatic and - I would suggest - justifiable use of expletives, however, as an expression of awe, had some bizarre and unforeseen consequences.

"Please be careful what you say," Julian cautioned.

"Oh yes, of course."

"And remember, Sophie, there's no image technology in this room. What you're seeing - what we're all seeing - is not a holographic projection. It's your own imagination."

I could hardly wait to read the next line: "A pod of dolphins greeted me with boundless joy and enthusiasm."

"No way," said Isobel, running across the chamber for a closer look. With endearing innocence she then reached out and attempted to touch one of the cetaceans as it leapt into the air in front of her. Her obvious wonderment was reminiscent of children who, upon donning 3D spectacles for the first time, instinctively try to interact with the illusion before them.

Time passed quickly as we marvelled and gasped at each and every sentence of my essay, which the Intronium was dutifully bringing to life in ever more vibrant and beautiful ways. Perhaps inevitably, however, I found myself deviating from the script, at times. A noun here, a verb there. Minor alterations. Certainly nothing that risked affecting the overall mood of the piece. Even so, the temptation to experiment further was becoming increasingly hard to resist. And, to make matters worse, Isobel had started to heckle me with suggestions of her own. Which would, admittedly, have been rather good suggestions, had I wanted to present something funny, dramatic or downright pornographic. But that simply wasn't what my work was about.

A scene then came along that depicted a number of villagers, who had set out to climb an extinct volcano in search of the rare and delicious berries that grew near its summit. "Make it erupt," said Isobel, "that would be awesome."

Indeed, I thought to myself. But what of the villagers? And, besides, a volcanic eruption would have spoiled the peaceful ambience that I had begun to establish. Still, I was curious. And I didn't see any harm in causing the ground to shake, just a little.

"More!" Isobel demanded.

At this point I left the script behind and went bravely, or foolishly, off-piste. "And as the rumbling grew stronger, the villagers looked up in alarm, worried that they may have angered the fire god, who lived in the mountain."

Isobel clapped and shrieked with approval, encouraging me to go even further: "Moments later, smoke could be seen rising ominously from the crater."

I should have stopped there, of course, but the story now had a momentum of its own. And as I proceeded to describe an immense volcanic eruption, the whole room turned brilliant orange from the glow of molten lava. I briefly considered having a giant bird swoop down in order to save the villagers. But no.

"Tayna reached out to his traumatised friends as a fast-flowing river of lava tugged relentlessly at what remained of his burning legs. Despite having dragged his charred torso free, nobody could bear to look at him any more, let alone assist him. His cries for help went unanswered, therefore, as his companions covered their ears in despair, having already turned their backs on him. All could hear his continuing cries of anguish, nevertheless, as they awaited what they felt would be his imminent silence; that is to say, his imminent death. Little did they realise that his injuries weren't necessarily life-threatening. How could they possibly have known, after having refused to even look at him? And so they waited in vain for an end to their mutual nightmare, unable to proceed forward, yet unwilling to turn around and face the horror. Who, after all, could render assistance now, amid the shame of having allowed so many minutes to needlessly elapse? And how many more minutes would pass by before Tayna, realising his situation, would obligingly crawl back into the lava, sparing his friends any further torment?"  

Julian looked shocked and dismayed, leaving me in no doubt that I had gone too far - way too far! He then switched on the main light and reminded me that improvisation was not part of the deal, particularly of the type that I had just indulged in. He was right, of course. And I immediately stepped down in disgrace, castigating myself over my poor judgement and lack of self-discipline.

It seemed that Isobel saw things a little differently, however, and duly confronted Julian with her suspicions. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because you obviously know human nature too well - far too well - for any of this to have come as a surprise to you."

Julian grinned, like a child who'd been caught in a lie. "She actually did a lot better than I had anticipated."

"Wait, what?" I interjected. "You're implying that this was some sort of a test?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Then what does my failure imply?"

"Don't think of it as a failure, Sophie. It just means that you're not ready yet; not ready for that which you believe you want."

His assurance didn't make me feel any better, however, and as he proceeded to debate the matter with Izzy, I found myself a comfortable corner to sulk in.

What was it, I began to wonder, that invariably drew people towards darkness, when everything they could ever want seemed to exist within the light? Why had I - even I - traded something so beautiful for something so ugly and violent? Julian's explanations were all well and good, but I knew that they meant nothing unless I could actually come to terms with my own drives and motivations.

"It does make sense, you know," said Isobel, who had come across to comfort me.

"What does?"

"The need for tests."

"Oh?"

"The clue was in what Julian said earlier, about our needing to acknowledge our own omnipotence."

"I'm not feeling very omnipotent right now."

"No. Your personal consciousness doesn't have a very big impact on the consensus reality. At least not here, on Earth."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it has a much bigger impact... elsewhere. In fact, according to Julian, the average human mind could wreak havoc upon a peaceful planet. Our thoughts, for example, about an extinct volcano coming to life..."

"Could really make it happen?"

"Yes. That's how powerful we are. That's why we have to overcome our addiction to drama. That's why we have to recognise our conditioning, and break free of it. That's why we have to stop pretending."

"She's right," said Julian, squatting down beside us. "But it won't be easy. It's never easy for lone bees to abandon the hive. This whole system, after all, is nothing but a reflection of the hive mind of humanity. And seeing as no one is actually separate from that, it's almost paradoxical that anyone should ever want to leave. Certainly the system is designed to prevent that from happening. From education to entertainment; from science to religion; from the daily bombardment of bad news stories to the endless distractions of sport, politics and social media. It all has to go, if you want to be free."

"Just how many lone bees are there?" I asked him.

"There are many who want to leave, but there are few who are ready to leave."

"What about death? Isn't that a way out?"

"The conspiracy doesn't end at the morgue, Sophie."

"What conspiracy?"

"The human conspiracy, against itself, to prevent people like you from ever leaving."

"But I'm a human."

"I know. That's the paradox."