relics

Our bodies are relics from a long-forgotten past. There's an ocean inside us all. We've trained ourselves to listen to that inner voice, but a language older than words motivates our bodies. The neuron is a new-comer onto the scene. Its reflexive orchestration is even newer. Consciousness, situated in a self is even newer than this. Yet we continue to chase the voice, our god, do its bidding. It's the riddle of steel. The bidding of ideas is stronger than any metal. People sacrifice for an abstract agglomeration of colors and shapes. If it's a flag it signifies ideas grander in scope than we could ever possibly experience. Yet we continue to believe that we're free. We continue to believe that our destinies lie before us as a rational goal.

The logic of mass is stronger. The logic of bodies is longer. The logic of the ocean is older. It waves crash upon our inner sea its contents are a slow achievement of eons of molecular arrangements. To consider how exterior we are to ourselves is alienating. Yet we are but a shoal, a coral reef upon this ocean of time. The logic of life which belongs to us isn't divine. It's an alchemy of luck and the persistence of chemical bonds. They find the short distance. They find the path of least resistance. Yet there's no motive to the chemical. There's no motive to the atom. It has properties that function within and in accordance to our physical universe. Purely alien in all regards are the constituent elements of our bodies, of all things, to our ideas. Yet we follow the inner voice, not the crash of waves from the inner ocean upon our reef. We continue to live out a logic that is alien to itself. Simulation is a sine qua non of our reality. It is an inescapable logic of using symbolic representation. Words are but an outgrowth of our inner world picture.

We are, as I said, relics from a long forgotten time. While the years separate us from our moment of departure we are still here at the departure gate. We have not left that time. Our bodies have a historicity much older than any human culture. Our bodies speak of a world of purely exterior relations. Nothing is defined by anything else. That's a fiction that we must rely upon to use our vocabulary. It's our concession to simulation. The real is but a constrained truth that we maintain to recognize the purely happenstance way that our speech and our symbols, our inner world, relates to its exterior.

As I said we are relics from a long forgotten time. There's an ocean inside us all.