Life Script

After Möbius left, Jennifer spent a few minutes picking up the apartment, which, she noticed, wasn’t nearly as messy as is used to be. She couldn’t remember cleaning it, so she had to assume that either her mother had stopped by in her absence, or the results of her nascent mental discipline had started to sift down into reality. Nevertheless she found a plethora of odds and ends, compliments of her half finished projects upstairs, all belonging to the category of objects that one can’t bring oneself to throw away, but that never serve any real purpose and end up cluttering the living space. 

There is a pervasive sense of futility associated with the awareness that an all-knowing being is guiding your life: if somebody or something already knows and most likely designs all the aspects of your life, if every hair on your head is numbered, why would you bother to pretend you have free will at all?

“Would you feel better about yourself if I offered no guidance?” Möbius replied.

“How is he here again to comment on my every thought?” Jennifer asked herself, exasperated, since he’d just left, after regaling her with a good helping of constructive criticism no less.

“Every time you think about me I get the equivalent of a 911 call. I am your guardian angel, Jennifer, and sadly, this is my one and only job, listening to you. Self-determination, was it?”

“Maybe there is justice in the universe after all,” Jennifer couldn’t help herself. “Please, go on.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Is there any?”

Möbius paused for a second, not sure how to approach the subject. 

“So, do you remember the conversations we had in the beginning? About the life script and such?”

Jennifer nodded.

“And how your code is different now?”

Jennifer nodded again.

“You shouldn’t take that to mean that whatever comes out of it is completely random, the laws of causality still apply, time still moves only forward and everything that happens must be written in the code in order for it to happen. Now, somebody has to write it, and that’s either you or me.”

“What if I write something that doesn’t make any sense?” Jennifer asked.

“How would you be able to tell?” Möbius was about to say, but refrained. The angelic hosts had been perplexed for eons by the patently absurd choices the few lucky humans with a sandbox usually made. There was no analysis behind their decisions, no forethought, nothing that made any sense to a rational being. “Well, no matter how incoherent the code is, there will still be a logical unfolding of consequences, nothing comes as a surprise, every creative endeavor, and life is eminently a creative endeavor, is the outcome of universal laws and conscious intent.”

“But what about luck, or unforeseen circumstances?”

“Written.”

“What if I suddenly decide to move to Zanzibar permanently?”

“Now that would be one of those random lines of code you write for yourself that generate weird results, but which under normal circumstances would have been part of your original code. Just because it seems like a sudden decision for you, it doesn’t mean it would take me by surprise.”

“So, hypothetically speaking you would know all the developments that could unfold from my moving to Zanzibar?”

“I already do know all of the developments that would unfold from your moving to Zanzibar, or any other modifications you might want to make to the code.”

“So, you are saying that no matter what I decide to do, you already know it.”

“In a nut shell.”

‘This is so devastatingly depressing I don’t have words for it. What about love, Möbius?”

“Written.”

“Why on earth would the angels bother with that?”

“Well, your kind is mortal, so it becomes sort of a necessity…” Möbius looked down, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry to ruin romance for you. I can write that portion of the code if it makes you uncomfortable. Come to think of it, now that your life is non-expiring, that is no longer a necessity for you.”

“Thank you, Möbius! Thank you for ruining Santa for me!”

“You are too old to believe in Santa, anyway. Enjoy that privilege.”

“I’m twenty nine!” Jennifer protested.

“Not anymore you’re not. Not in this context.”

Jennifer spent some time in sullen silence, during which she scrubbed the kitchen counter until she could see her reflection in it.

“I think it’s clean enough, Jennifer,” Möbius spoke softly.

“What is the point of doing anything at all? What gives you a reason to exist if you already know everything that was, is and ever will be?” she looked at him, distraught.

“You are looking at this from a limited perspective. Human life is like a train that only moves along its rail and only moves in one direction. That doesn’t mean that that rail is the whole of existence and the direction is set in stone. I can move in any direction I please and I can see the whole field and I don’t understand why you would find that depressing. Did you get a chance to access your libraries?”

“What libraries?” Jennifer jumped, alarmed.

“The Akashic libraries, you’re tied into several of them. It may be useful for you to watch your possible life paths, it’s good mental exercise and it would help you make better decisions.”

“You don’t understand humans at all, do you?” Jennifer blurted, shocked.

“Sorry, no. I have to confess, your choices never seem to make any sense to me.”

“Great! Now I have to worry that I’m going to open a library file on accident and see my whole life flash before my eyes. What’s the point of sitting through a movie you’ve already seen?”

“You mean you’ve never watched a movie more than once?” Möbius asked innocently.