A Genius And A Sage (in Conversation)

A Genius and Sage (in Conversation) By: Matthew P. Holbert A genius and a sage were sitting by the river, talking And suddenly the sage said, “ Truth is divine!” To which the genius replied, “Yes, reality is beautiful, and its patterns and principle nature are poetic.” They stared at the river. “And we are all one… ” The sage said. “In time.” “Yes, we are all aspects of a greater ultimate structure.” Said the genius, his eyes gazing down at an ant, the sage’s eyes fixed upon a gliding hawk. “And do you ever suppose,” the sage asked, “that we are made in gods image?” “Well I suppose that if reality is truth and that god is truth, I would have to say yes, because the patterns that exist are self similar in nature to each other. I am essentially like a cell in my body, and my body is like a galaxy of cells. And governments are like the organs of my body, but working in opposition to one another. Yes, like I said, we are all aspects of a greater, ultimate structure, and each subsidiary aspect of that overall, big picture is self-similar to that ultimate structure.” He looked at his own hand and said, “Yes, made in ‘gods’ image.” After he said this, the sun went under the horizon and the stars shone crisp in the perfect, unpolluted night. They gazed upon the stars, looking strait up, causing their mouths to gape open. The genius nodded his head down to look at the sage and said, “ Isn’t it funny that in order to feel comfortable while looking at the heavens, we must open our mouths?” “Yes.” The sage replied enthusiastically, “We can look nothing but awestruck when our heads are bent back to the stars, as though they have commanded our astonishment by design.” One day, when the genius was driving his car, the sage in the passenger side, loaded on weed and meditation said, “Life is an illusion, this presence is like a video game, a game!” His eyes passed over to the horizon and to the tree line, focusing on minutia, and he spoke again, “And reality itself is a computer generated phenomena.” This confused the genius for a moment, causing him to stop the car that he could inquire upon these strange statements. “Your first statement makes sense to me, because our brain is a computer, and if the reality I see now were possible to duplicate with CGI, people would surely pay to see or play their own lives, simply for the image detail and magnitude, let alone the other senses—a fact which would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic that they have no notion of this. But your second statement is cryptic, what do you mean when you say reality is computer generated also?” The sage was fixed on a tree outside the window. “Just to see. How magnificent!” He turned his head and smiled. “If our minds are like a computer, then this reality is like an Internet I suppose, a place that computers can tap into, which exists without the necessity of a computer. The content is energy is it not, merely condensed and polarized, such that all things don’t osmosis chaotically? Everything is information.”

“Yes,” the genius said, “I understand now. And the self-similar property of reality continues into our production of technology. Truly evolution is beyond life, wouldn’t you agree?” The sage sat back, closed his eyes and said, “Beyond humanity, beyond the symbol there is truth, and truth is beautiful.” On a warm winter day, the winds were blowing and churning. The sage was resting on the grass, waiting for the genius. His eyes were open to the world. “Why do you meditate?” The genius asked from behind. “To realize that its not necessary.” The sage said, looking up at the genius. “Well then, couldn’t you just do it the first time and be done with it?” “Certainly not.” “Why?” “Because everything fades. Doubt fades into faith, and faith into doubt. You should always question your grasp of truth; this is a way to self-actualization—to be in a constant state of conscious growth. “And for me, self-actualization is the point of meditation. Finding out what the deepest sense of that word ‘self’ means. We think meditation means to silence thought, but thought is a symptom of consciousness, and consciousness is not something that can be silenced because it is a stillness, counter to the mind. Thought, as a process irrespective of words and narrative, is a component of your self; understand the process, concentrate on the flow of it, not on the words, for the words—as symbols—have no meaning outside of the trained mind. You see, self-actualization is the emptying of mankind’s hypnotizing conditioning, away from consciousness; it is a purification process. “From this you then realize that what you are, your essence, is what you have been trying to find. When you discover what you actually are, all else falls away; the falsenesses of culture becomes obvious, and from that reduction, truth slowly becomes obvious as well. “Well,” said the genius. “I know how empowering and liberating it is to reject convention.” “No!” the sage sighed, “There is no rejection; to reject means that there is validity in the lie, and that you have chosen not to partake. To dissolve convention, you must first accept that it is a fabrication, then that it is not good, then that you are beyond any structure. “Without the observed, there cannot be the observer, without the observer there cannot be an observed. These are not mere ideas; they are facts.” The day is early, the dew not yet settled, and the genius stands before a walkway, right hand jingling his car keys, the other rested at his side. After his work is done, he returns home, following the same walkway he took the day before. The sage sits on a whicker chair, seemingly in prostration to the day itself. “Where have you been?” The sage inquires with one eye open. “You left in the early hours, and stayed gone for more than a month.” Closing his eye again. “Things needed doing.” “Funny, how you say that gives the impression…” hesitating, the sage opens both eyes and looks at the genius. “Things need doing do they?”

“Yes, if we don’t, who will?” The genius asks surprised. “My friend, first and foremost, you are a thing, are you not?” “Yes, of course.” “If things need doing, who is doing you?” “Nothing, I suppose, but what is your point.” “Nothing indeed. My point is that it is the ardent perspective of man, that man is the master of all, and that nature must be concurred, done as it were. Missing the nature of things, humanity is always in a distress over figuring things out, squaring things away, and getting things done. Do you see the mechanical, linear tone this sets into thought? The result is an alienation from the true process of things, and a great, overwhelming anxiety over the question ‘if we don’t, who will?’ The answer being that things do themselves my friend.” “Well that’s all well and good, but the progress that mankind has stride was only possible by people that did things.” “I am not, not saying that things need not be attended to, I’m saying that you are an aspect of the process you are attending to, you are not doing it, as though it is something other than your self, you are a part of it; ergo, it does itself. “Only humanity needs doing; it is a self sustaining structure…. And a question is raised by mans ardent progress against nature… is it worth the alienation?” “I don’t know… I suppose not.” “No, I agree. We are misguided.” “Something you said a while ago got me thinking.” The genius said, standing on the dock, the waters gently undulating below. The sage was undressing to jump in. “What’s that?” the sage gaily asked. “You said that the brain is like a computer…” “Yes?” “And I agree with you, but my question is: who is the metaphorical user in this?” “Ah!” [SPLASH] returning to the surface finally, and gasping for air, the sage replied, “Well you see my friend, this is like our discussion not too long ago about things doing themselves.” “Then reality is playing itself.” “Yes, in a way, reality is playing itself… Do you remember what you said when I asked you ‘who is doing you’?” wading in the water, the sage begins to swim backwards, arms flapping like a bird, feet idle. “Nothing, I suppose…” “That’s right. Now, how many nothings are there?” “…” “My point is that we are all one in that nothingness. That is true consciousness.” “Imagine,” the genus said, “ that your eyes close… What if behind your lids is a mirror, and not a normal mirror, it can show you behind the image, the perception, even when your eyes are open, even when your limbs are numb. It is the mirror of your consciousness. What, then, does it see?” He’s standing on a round stone, half in the ground of grass. The blue sky; the illusionary veil…glowing: full of light contamination, the hue: blue.

“YES!!” the sage alleluias, standing under a blossoming tree that seemed to be reaching for the sun… to life. TO LIFE… ‘Into life’ he thought, ‘and beyond it.’ “That is a great Zen conundrum…” stroking his beard and starting to crouch “perhaps better than most.” Then his cheeks rose, his eyes squinted closed, and he proceeded to cross his legs, and meditate…

“Then what of crimes against humanity!” The genius and sage had begun an argument: of the nature of man. The genius had said that people are generally evil, self centered, and easily manipulated. To which the sage disagreed. The proceeding argument went as follows from the previous quotation, which was consequential to the disagreement. “People are more complex than the environment they create.” The sage shrugged in confidence. “And I begin to smile at the impression that that leaves; the joyous potential, and of the distress over the current state of affairs, I squint.” “Then what of the people that make us domesticated?? Certainly they are evil.” “Evil is only possible when Heroism exists, they are an extension of love.” “What?” “Is loving, the acceptance of all things?” “Yes.” “Then to love is to need neither evil nor heroism.” “Then what is pure love like?” “Oh, Nothing… Everything.” “That is meditation.” “No. Meditation comes from this state of consciousness.” “We are all one.” “Yes.” “Well no. You see I’d only seen it like an idea before, you know, as a concept of an idea of a philosophy… I see it now like I see my own body, like my body is experience itself, and like my spirit is everything.” The sage yelped, delighted, in a higher pitch than normal: “Now you’re starting to sound like me!” “Ha ha! I know, I know. Maybe it’s the hash we smoked! “Ha! Yes.” The sage croaks out of glee, then into simpering laughter, then rises up and says in all seriousness. “ But you are not wrong, this is the ultimate self realization. The weed is good for that. Nature has been our teacher of wisdom for tens of thousands of years. How else do you think we came up with language??” “Hmph.” “Time is passing! That is to say, time is equal to passing; I mean that the passing is an equal aspect of time.” the genius explains. “Yes, time is a state of change, and so is always new, and always news, yet never lasting. Yet, it is more infinite that way, than if it were just stagnant stuff. “Infinity is this, the many layers, each more great than the last, proceeding as jumps of complexity… jumps of contrast from space and void: the absolutely clean. Time is the

nature of this stuff to change, and on all layers. This procession is vital, for without time there is no life, and without life, there is no experience—yet another layer. “You must understand that there is no need for a past or future when you realize that time is change, that we are a flux, that we are never more or less, and then there must only be one moment, and that that one is beyond every one. All aspects of time are less than it all, yet every aspect is the culmination of it all, one part is self-similar to the whole, and the whole is self-similar to the part. “The onion is beyond the layers, and its environment is beyond it. Now we have Nothing to understand. “Oh, except that experience is a manifestation of time in order to measure itself. Thus increasing its complexity another layer deeper.” “But time is a measurement of…” the genius interjects. “No, no seconds are a measurement of…” “Time, if anything, is a force generated by the motion of matter. Like a fabric, so delicate, that the slightest hush of motion generates stirring in it, and thus causes the force: time.” “Time then would be endless too. However, there is no time to the universe of space. And even when you travel in space, it does not change the fact that you, are matter, and are thus, just as effected by time. It is as inescapable as the body.” “But we are not our body.” “No. We are infinite consciousness, trying to express itself through time…” And now to a sidewalk, lined by fields of grass, and embossed wooden floors standing on cut stones as the genius meditates, plopped on a purple pillow, eyes closed, breathing steady, controlled though. And the sage sleeps under an umbrella. Past him go the flashings of unconscious awareness experiencing. He goes deeper, deeper, like diving, it becomes a game, a thing to do; A form of chemical, and therefore experiential inducing masturbation. That chemical is Dopamine and Melatonin, and Dymethyltryptamine. (The sage can become overtly addicted very easily, because he appreciates everything without conviction. “Without dogma,” to him, “everything is an addiction, and literally so. So if everything is addictive—or to say that life itself is an addiction to brain chemicals and experiences—what’s the point in regulating it?”) The sage wakes up suddenly, from a dream that left him with some wood, amid a field of nurtured Japanese grass. Amid such beauty, and from a land of dreams, so vivid as his waking life, he faces this moment as a blessing, but one so mysterious yet, that he viewed death as the greatest introspection. To die is to wake, as if from a dream, saying, “of course, this, of course.” To believe in the sacredness of the process: Reality, is to believe in the culmination of consciousness after death, as the leaves on a tree die, only because the tree sucks back their life, back into itself. And yet, the leaves are a part of the tree, and some might say that the culmination of the tree itself is—the leaves, and I would agree, for both the trunk, and the leaves are the culmination, because the tree itself is the culmination of itself. However, lets not forget the seeds. The sage gathers himself, grabbing his umbrella; he stands up and begins spinning it, and proceeds towards where the genius is sitting. Standing over him, the sage plants his umbrella over the genius, casting a shadow over his eyes; his eyes open.

“You should be more focused than that my friend.” “What?” the genius starts grabbing for the umbrella, and begins laughing. The sage, shuffling himself around, and then tugging his umbrella away from him, the genius grunts a little, falling over. The sage puts his umbrella down, “Oh, well, I guess you’re a little more focused that I thought after all.” and suddenly, it begins to rain. “Oh!” The genius clamors for the umbrella, and the sage goes off running into the fields, laughing and hooting yippee yippee, deep into the cloudy horizon. And so soon it was, the music ended, and so it did too soon, and the dance in life and the clouds and stones and matter; The stars stopped shining, no more sound, no more life, no more anything. What is left? My God is that which is left over, Beyond matter, time, consciousness, all things that have an end, all bound by matters changing, By Time. Matters motion… Energy is what makes everything. Therefore energy is matters motion, and so is time. There is no time in the sense of a past and a future, its really only one aggregate state of existence, and that aggregate state is in a state of constant change, the two states are one; there is no force outside of matter, causing it to time. Time is a principle nature of energy: in that it by nature is energetic. And because it is energy, everything is formed by waves, waves of sound and whatnot. And this means that, including my psyche, my body is merely energy condensed, my perceptions and intelligence—are information, which is energy. So what? So what if everything is energy? What does it have to do with my life? The answer is this that consciousness is not energy, and it is not bound by time. Consciousness: the “I AM” ness of waking life does not change in any period of time. It is not our brain tuning into consciousness, it’s consciousness tuning into our brain, and tuning out for sleep. The funny thing about the psyche is, it forgets that it was already able to speak and walk and know its whole family by name before it becomes conscious, but then doesn’t even notice that it has associated this new consciousness as a normal part of its existence, as soon as it starts happening. The difficulty is explaining consciousness at all, just like opening and closing your hand is easy, but very difficult as to describe how you do it. When you are awake, you have a conscious state, and the conscious state has you, unless you are blacked out drunk; when the minds TV is picking up video of reality, or in other words, when you see the world, you are talking about two interacting events, one is the perceptions themselves, and the other is the perceptions being experienced by consciousness. The words may sound complicated, but they are like most symbols, they are extensions of pure experience, and are therefore inferior to the original. Simply by giving attention to the moment, your own mind and body included, you will see that you are not your thoughts, and that you are without time. The mind cannot recall what it has experienced without consciousness. And the question is, can consciousness be aware of anything outside of the body and time, if the answer is yes, then death is not the end of consciousness, if this is not the case, death is like pre-life. In case of the former, pre-life is like before you go to sleep, and death is like waking up, and into a form of awareness as more profound and clear as waking life is to dreams.