To make our conspiracy even more delicious, I’ll introduce another element to the above scenario by means of a riddle. What do you get when you cross E.T. and The Truman Show? What you get is a secret task.
Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to locate ‘The Other’. It’s to get back into touch with (or meet for the first time; it's a moot point) some really important individual. We share a very close tie of an unknown nature.
But I, or s/he, or even both of us have been brainwashed (as per the above). The knowledge of our relationship has been scrubbed. The grand conspiracy has worked to separate us. (By the way, I’ll use the name Theo from now on—from THE Other—and refer to Theo in the second person singular to avoid having to dither between ‘he’ and ‘she’.)
It has hidden Theo. Maybe you’ve morphed you into an unrecognizable form. I don’t know what you look like, or even if you’re human! I don’t know where you are, or when you live. But somehow through some means or another I must reach you and convince you of our plight.
How’s that for a premise? Rod Serling would have loved it!
I refer to this as a mission because Theo could be anywhere in the world. For all I know, you may be living in another time period also. I hope you don’t live in the past, because how could I you reach backwards in time? But if you occupy the future, then clearly the best way forward is to plant this book for you to find.
Another difficulty is that we wouldn’t necessarily recognize one another on sight. We’re both in mufti. How would we get around that one? I, at least, have the benefit of knowing that there is a person to be on the lookout for. I’ve got my eyes primed. But you don’t necessarily know that there’s even a game on. Your lenses—your overview of the situation—may not be so clear.
Still, I can make a stab at Theo’s characteristics, feelings, perceptions, attitudes and mental orientation. I must trust that you are fortunate enough to live in a relatively open society, one in which differences are at least tolerated, and where it is possible to harbor variant thoughts (as long as you keep them to yourself). Those around you probably follow a conventional religion, and you might also, in spite of the fact that you’re not one-hundred-percent convinced. But Theo is the type of person who goes along with the flow. I warrant that you’re not the sort of person who makes waves.
That being so, I figure my best course of action is to send Theo a message-in-a-bottle. Not only must I spell it out clearly, but I can’t waste any time. An added complication is that things are not static. As the search goes on (and as I write) Theo and I are moving around. Every day we wake up in different bodies.
What a predicament! Is our situation hopeless? Come back and find out—same time, same place, next week.
The particular body that I’ve woken up into today seems to have a clear grasp of the situation. Its lenses work reasonably well. All its systems seem to be functioning—I’ve got a clue or two. But can I be sure that tomorrow’s lenses will provide that same insight?
And thereafter—how long will it be before I return, some future morning, into a host in which I can continue my work? No, not ‘continue’, for all ‘my’ previous memories would have been wiped out, and I’d have to start from scratch. I tell you, this version of Groundhog Day is utterly warped. I can rely only on a single day to get my act together—realize where I am, assess the situation, and compose my message.
Eyes that are closed. Eyes outside of my control. Eyes that are blind to the predicament that the two of us are in. I try not to panic at the idea that I may soon awaken into such a pair. Today I simply must escape. I’ve got to attain escape velocity and get beyond the boundaries of this Truman World. Carpe diem—seize the day, because the day is all that I can rely on.
This is my time frame. This is a job that can’t be put off; it must be done right here and now, completed by the time that I go to bed and my consciousness slides into the peaks and troughs of alpha waves and beta. Deep sleep with my muscles paralyzed. REM sleep, eyelids a-flutter, dreaming of the little death.
I have now the means, the time, the wherewithal, and the insight to make hay of this span of unbroken stream-of-consciousness. I know I’m alive, I know who I am, and I have a handle on what I’m about. I cannot dally, for who knows when the planets will be aligned as now and I’ve the insight to glimmer what’s going on behind the scenes.
When I state that the goal is for the two of us to get into contact, I don’t mean in the flesh. Given the practicalities of geography, the possibility that we speak different languages, the likelihood that we live in different eras, it is doubtful that we could meet up in any physical sense. Nor should we need to; it isn’t necessary. It might not even be desirable. It probably wouldn’t hurt, but no good would come of it?
It would prove useless if you button-holed me in the street or cornered me in my kitchen. I’d be speechless, you see. At best, I’d just gabble and blather. It’s the thought that matters, so the written word is best. Trust me. Let me work in isolation and refine my words. In time, I’ll beam the finished product over the ether for Theo to pick up on your radio-telescope.
Time is merely part of the mechanism that serves to separate. It allows us to view the multiplicity of the instants of our ‘being set’ as separate moments. They may be compared. “See me then, see me now,” we exclaim, “I must be changing, evolving and growing!” That is how it seems, although in reality we are part of a tableau.
Count yourself lucky if your portals are clear enough to grok what is what. Such a perspective is impermanent. I too catch only glimpses. But from where I stand now I can tell you that nothing is worth worrying about. Nothing is worth crying over. Nothing is a matter of do-or-die (though that is certainly how it feels).
Experience is the issue. Experience is the coin of this realm. The grand conspiracy makes it possible for God to experience life from the widest variety of angles. Variety has been hard-wired into our very being. We are ‘different’ so as to be able to experience our self from multitudinous points of reference. Right now, as I say, I can see that (and right now you may be able to understand). The glass in the windows of the vehicle of this particular model and brand allows me to see it. And I have this lifetime, day or instant to convey that meme.
My aim in enlightening you is purely selfish. It’s not done out of the goodness of my heart. No, I have an ulterior motive for this exercise in intellectual grooming. To be brutally honest, I dread the thought of waking up next morning trapped behind your eyes, together with the memory of all those years lived as you under whatever paradigm you follow. Ugh! The thought makes me shudder. I couldn’t stand to be you.
The whole point of my spending today—these twenty-four hours—to create this magnum opus is to make available to me (when I flitz into you) the wherewithal to escape—consider this as liberation literature. And, just as I only have this day of opportunity, so do you. You’ve discovered this text online? Download it right away and start digesting this baby: Virginia from Rickmansworth’s 100-minute bible.
