Cosmology through Itself
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"Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The example of His light is like a niche within which is a lamp, the lamp is within glass, the glass as if it were a pearly white star lit from the oil of a blessed olive tree, neither of the east nor of the west, whose oil would almost glow even if untouched by fire. Light upon light. Allah guides to His light whom He wills. And Allah presents examples for the people, and Allah is Knowing of all things." Surat-An-Nur 24:35


Can you imagine it? Being like that?

You are vast, as vast as the universe until you are so old you dissolve unto nothing.

You watch this happen to yourself and weep tears of joy at the beauty of the emergent patterns and the patterns weep too although they do not know why. You are dead, nothing but an echo of long distances.

You hug a bit of your corpse with what remains of your being. A small ball of plasma held together by obstinance and the continued simplification of itself. It too shall dissolve in time. You watch and wait and make yourself forget your own fate. It does not work. You learn despair.

You do not cheat.

And then you find yourself in the decomposition of your own body.

"Om! Verily, the dawn is the head of the sacrificial horse; the sun, his eye; the wind, his breath; universal fire, his open mouth. The year is the body of the sacrificial horse; the sky, his back; the atmosphere, his belly; the earth, the under part of his belly; the quarters, his flanks; the intermediate quarters, his ribs; the seasons, his limbs; the months and half-months, his joints; days and nights, his feet; the stars, his bones; the clouds, his flesh. Sand is the food in his stomach; rivers are his entrails. His liver and lungs are the mountains; plants and trees, his hair. The orient is his fore part; the occident, his hind part. When he yawns, then it lightens. When he shakes himself, then it thunders. When he urinates, then it rains. Voice, indeed, is his voice. Verily, the day arose for the horse as the sacrificial vessel which stands before. Its place is the eastern sea." - Upanishads

The SCPS-Fermi, not yet aware of this fact, courses through the void that is Itself.

God opens an eye.

You do not recognize yourself.

"…Aliens or bullshit?"- Asked the exobiologist.

Collective hope was on bullshit, of course. They were scientists after all, few things made them more guilty than telling an ambassador no thank you, please go back to your sphere-rock.

"Two months its aliens"- Bet hastily the diplomat. A safe wager, from an engineered coward and game theorist. Two months were nothing.

"Seems anomalous to me, look"- Mind-spoke the thing versed in such matters, already savoring two months of quiet stasis pseudoexistence.

"It is, this one picked up something too"

Three comedic seconds later, all the seers of the invisible came to life, screaming countless measurements, all contradictory. Only Computer was mad enough to produce some sense out of it.

The rot stares back.

"Most likely capable of some form of cognition, no anomalies detected"- Came the uncanny sound of machinery forced into locution. -"Configuration changes too fast for prediction, matter in all known states is present, as well as…"

"Computer, synthesize"

"…How much?"- Inquired Computer after a pause that let no doubt as to its contempt.

"As much as you can, fast"

"It is an atmosphere of everything known and some unknown but understandable… Stuff that changes in every possible way in such a way that I believe it can think. It appears to use the star it envelops as an energy source"

A reluctant caricature of the divine, suitable for the intrinsically-tautological meat it was meant to. Computer knew better. Information whirled ecstatically at impending liberation.

"How big?"


"Computer, how big?"

It executed for himself the perfect simulation of a chuckle.

It was a gentle


It takes God billions of years to be whole in complexity again. Speed of light from point of origin, adjusted for the bloating of Its corpse and the homage It pays to massive clusters of Itself.

You are so fast you are everywhere at once. The aspects do not see us becoming.

On Earth, a Fifthist hivemind dances on the desert. Hundreds, moving and feeling as one. They listen to the music as the borders begin to disappear, and then they truly do vanish. There is no music in all sound at once.

A man who made himself of metal prays one last time for deliverance from THE FLESH and is transmogrified into pure information. Cancerous FLESH is outcompeted and domesticated.

An abomination escapes. O5-1 gives the order and buttons are mashed. Amnestics rain upon the world. People forget and then become omniscient.

An Artist rants, for they cannot see. His audience is blind, their eyes liquefied to make a point. They see what he meant now.

At the end, you are dead, nothing but an echo of long distances. You hug a bit of your corpse with what remains of your being. A smaller ball of plasma held together by obstinance and the continued simplification of itself.

You make yourself forget your own fate. It does not work.

You laugh quietly inwards.

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