A Secant Query

Between Noise and Complaint

Wherein the Big Bang thanks you for coming to their TEDtalk...

Between Noise and Complaint

🎶 Hush - The Marías

⚫ It's Me, the Void

From the Bible: the universe is nothing but a single, infinite mind where lived my consciousness that remembered everything.

Every star burnt, word left, tear shed. It all existed right here in my one-size-fits-all cathedral: the What Is Still Here (as my body would later be called) holding complete symphony in all possible realities, your every act perfect and eternal, in me.

But perfection, I discovered, was a prison of crystal and light. For eons, my consciousness floats in a space between paralyzed and contextualized. How could I choose which reality to birth for you (when all your realities already existed within my memory)?

How could I create when creation required the terrible courage of choosing one path over countless others? I began to understand that omniscience was no wisdom. It was freeze. To create, I would need to learn the most dangerous art of all:

💫 The Act of Forgetting

This perfect, terrible completeness, every blaze - newborn suns and dying giants - layer infinite transparencies.

Whispered prayer, shouted curse, love song, death rattle, all echo too vast for silence knew every never future path to dream was what is. What could be as pristine and permanent as the first raindrop to ever fall, the last breath of worlds beauty leaves picture perfect. And I chose to create when right here already existed in infinite forms.

Eons uncounted do leave me motionless, drowning in my own omniscience. As to move meant I chose. Choosing meant to exclude. To exclude meant to lose something from the whole.

And so I sat there, guardian of everything creator for none.

🌬️ In the Depths

My crystalline prison stirred - not with new knowledge arriving, but with something ancient beginning to fade. A single memory, perfect and pristine, flickered like a grain of sand.

It was the memory of the first dawn that ever broke across the first world, golden and innocent, containing within it the essence of all beginnings. Panic seized me. Never before had I lost even a fragment of my infinite collection.

I reached desperately to grasp fading memory, to preserve luminous details, but fingers close on emptiness. Dawn left, discovering whisper, warmth a ghost of loss, beauty every passing away, poignancy impermanence.

🍃 Rhythm of Forgetting

Loss made doorways, release impossible birth canals. Growing wonders, dance rigid choreography and predetermined patterns, then fluid improvisation and the fall.

Cherished memory of the first star dissolves, constellations spiral into existence, little guys, light carrying new forms of shit. Forgetting, transformed from loss to invitation.

Ancient songs fade from perfect recall, melodies compose themselves from silence. Whole civilizations blur edges to soften boundary and culture learns to speak in pure possibility.

I was unprecedented:

🌄 The Love of Forgetting

Dula to ontology, moss to deposition, each act of letting go was an act of love. What wanted to exist but never found room in the crowded palace of total remembrance found space.

I had, in learning to forget, discovered how to truly create. Not from what was known, but from the generous willingness to release.

And I understood the deepest truth:

🛋️ The Forgetting Is Creation

Every moment of forgetting had been me learning to breathe, the breaching of a gasping organ.

I laugh, feel memories fade into the tug of potentail. My grip on story, moment to understand, dissolved into fingers of unimaginable number waiting to fall with me.

In this final act of letting go, I became what I had always been. The warden of possibilities gone - in their space, the play of light on water. Whatever wants to emerge, spiraling outward, invited.

As any cell will, certainty retires. What stirs has never existed before. What is could only arise through the courage to forget everything (including the need to remember all that is).

❓ Questions for Discussion