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Existential Considerations and the Singularity of Infinite Bang

Big Bang TimelineTurning nothing into everything. In the beginning was The Singularity, a single point of time (at zero point) and space, which was all at once all-encompassing and non-existent, infinitely dense yet technically without mass. A cosmic pustule stuck in the skin separating “existence” from “non-existence.” The singularity, which didn’t exist, exploded, sending massive amounts of matter and energy into existence, causing the beginning of the universe and time, creating all the forces such as gravity and magnetism and electromagnetism.

Where did The Singularity come from, and how did matter form from nothing? Perhaps from the infusion of light and immense heat. We know from particle physics, if we combine matter with anti-matter, it will annihilate each other and yield massive energy (heat) and a pair of photons. Theoretically, time being reversed, the reaction would be reversible. The Singularity, perhaps, formed in negative time.

The source of heat and light: The Scriptures describe God as radiant light, undetectable, immeasurable, timeless, and as far as we can understand, non-existent (non-created); “non-existent” and dwelling in “non-existence” (non-creation) — a being of such intense luminescence, a momentary glance will burn through your retinas and melt your brain.

Perhaps God, by infusing himself into The Singularity, ignited the Big Bang and set creation into motion.

So, why would such an all-powerful creator go through mysterious and enigmatic means to make His existence known? Why give us the “proof” in the form of a book or series of manuscripts, written by men, passed down through the ages in such a way as to call into question how any such process could qualify as “the words of God“? After all, anyone who’s ever lived, as it were, could’ve just as easily written such a fantastical tale, and have it passed down along to us in the form of legend or fable, as “origins of the cosmos.” Why not do something fantastic, like laser-out some indestructible platinum or create a holographic journal, or just pop in now and then to introduce himself physically?

Would people be more inclined to accept Scripture as “God-given” if it was contained in some sort of “magical” form of super-advanced technology? Or would the artifact itself become the primary focus? We have a remarkable tendency to worship “sacred objects,” whether they be “divine” or not. Memorabilia is a hugely lucrative industry. Such artifacts would be fought over and seen as god-like with mystical powers in their own right. Just look at the history of The Shroud of Turin, The Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, and other such relics. We are prone to ascribe sacred power to objects and ignore the message or meaning behind their existence. Or perhaps such an object would become front and center on Ancient Aliens as proof that God is merely an advanced alien who visited in the ancient past.

And as for popping in and showing himself, doing “miracles” to prove he’s god, etc., I would refer you to the cinematic masterpiece, “Star Trek V, The Final Frontier,” where “god” was merely a clever alien with advanced technological powers. A skeptical mind will always believe in a “rational explanation” for every happenstance. I don’t much believe that anyone who genuinely disavows the possibility of the miraculous, will suddenly believe in God just because he shows up and does a few tricks, like healing an amputee or raising someone from the dead. (Someone already tried that once, and not a whole lot of people were all that impressed by it.)

“Proving God” is not within the means of an intellectual exercise, unfortunately. I can point to reason and science to an extent and find enough evidence to my satisfaction, so I have more to go on besides blind faith. Beyond that, our knowledge and scope of reason only go so far. They say God is only for the weak and simple-minded, the only ones dumb enough to believe in God in an age of reason ruled by science. Perhaps they are right. No one’s ever accused me of being all that bright. And I’m perfectly okay with that.

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The Moon, 10,001 BC

He waited, trembling, for them to call his name. He didn’t want Princess Poodypop to make fun of him.

“John Pickypuss!”

And, of course, laughter ensued. Hahahaha. “John!” Seriously, what kind of name is that?? Stupid parents!

“Here!” He slumped his head in shame. “Frap! Every single time!!!”

What he did not notice, however, was Princess Poodypop’s delightful gaze as she snookered over and sat next to him.

“I like your name. It’s sooo… cute!” She placed her hand on his shoulder, causing his heart to leap wildly from his chest.

First day at the Atlantian Underwater Moon Academy, and he had already made his mark!

“Um, I like your name too, Princess Poppycock.” He turned ghastly white and winced as if shot by five harpoons. “Poodypop! I meant Poodypop!”

She laughed so forcefully her perfectly tailored red locks flopped over her radiant face. “You are soooo cute!!!”

Confidence restored, he wiped the sweat from his face and relaxed.

After classes, John accompanied the Princess along the Lunar Mare Tunnel, which ran the length of the sea floor, offering picturesque views of moonfish and the dreaded dragonfish of Tranquility Bay.

“So, how long have you been living here underwater on the moon?” Whew, he did it. An ENTIRE sentence! No gaffes! “Smooth, John, smooth!” he thought.

“Um, only a year or so, underwater. But I’ve lived on the moon for several years.”

“I’m originally from Mars,” he shrugged apologetically.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’m not one of those anti-Mars girls!”

Whew. Good. “Mars is too red,” he paused, and smacked himself in the head. “Frap. Not that there’s anything wrong with red, ‘cause your hair is red…”

“You are SO SILLY!” And with that, Princess Poodypop kissed him right on the lips. Overwhelmed with emotions surging through his body uncontrollably, he fainted.

When he awoke minutes later, her blurry face morphed into the picture of pristine beauty. His heart pounded as though it would smack her in the face any moment.

“I love you, Poppycock,” were the words that escaped his lips, and his brain, before he could do anything to stop them.

She blushed and laughed hysterically. “You are SOOOO SILLY!!!” And once again, a peck on the lips.

At that moment, he realized… he FINALLY had his first Atlantian girlfriend! He instantly conjured up visions of sailing the lunar mares together and deep-mare diving; riding the moonfish side-by-side and holding on tightly as they bucked twenty feet into the air and crashed back into the waves. Why, they could grab a sail barge and circumnavigate the moon, serenaded by a Jovian Chorus, solar wind in their hair….

Nothing else from that moment on mattered anymore. Not the Moon Wars. Not the scary dragonfish or moon dragons which hid in the craters. All he could think about was that SMILE and those lovely locks of red! Oh, and dimples!

John Pickypuss and Pricess Poodypop. Prince and Princess of the Moon. Forever and ever and ever!

Rebirth (A Fable)

Vishnu turned Her all-seeing eye towards the Earth. It was time. She felt it in her being.

Her creation moaned and begged for its rebirth. The trees cried out. The roots rotted in the gloom and the grey. Violence prevailed. Death and destruction. The evil hearts of men and beast were infesting life with plagues of decay and woe.

Vishnu descended into the darkened realm and spoke the words.

“Thunder burst.”

The skies began to burn. Bursts of flame and soot ascended beyond the stratosphere and into the lower orbit. Pitch darkness consumed the living, the air choked from their lungs. Dying birds dropped from flight and rained upon the ground. The ground rolled like waves. The earth spit into two. Mountains exploded into fire and clouds of ash.

“I am Vishnu, Lord of creation. Fear my power. I am creator and destroyer of worlds.”

The last living human begged to stay alive. She was a child, sobbing, her soul was clean. Vishnu saw no sin in her.

“Take my hand, my child-god.”

The touch transformed the child into perfect health and form. She assumed the form and power of the Vishnu.

Doing this, Vishnu became a human child, innocent as snow and powerful in love. Rebirth and renewal. The cycle of life. Vishnu and child, one and the same.

The sky cleared, the smoke withdrew. The rivers began to flow.

The sea, once red, now green and blue. Radiant sunlight through the breeze, flowers and birds and nature sing.

“It is good. Love is free again. This pleases me.”

She felt her soft brown hair for the first time. It felt infinite and good. Light was everywhere, bright as the sun.

She drifted and danced in the sunshine. Petals fell.

She crossed the bridge, never looked back, and faded from view.

Cosmic Pickles

In the beginning, there was no space, and time was fuzzy. Oh and there was this Singularity.

This Singularity, being single, was granted extra syllables, which is how a simple word transforms into the infinitely complex creator of everything. Single becomes Singular becomes Singularity.

Try it out! Simple. Simplistic. Simplisticity. Ha! “Well, first we must understand the nature of simplisticity.” See how it works? We’re making science!

And this is how we deal with cosmic pickles. Like, where did everything come from? We have to account for the presence of matter, “which is neither created or destroyed,” which by definition suggests it is eternal. But nothing within the time-space continuum can be eternal, without being extra-dimensional. Matter is therefore not extra-dimensional, by definition. This, then, is a paradox.

When there is a paradox, we must find another explanation to resolve it, or else our current understanding is not balanced, not entirely cohesive. A theistic explanation satisfies by stating an extra-dimensional source of intellectual design is at play. However, an atheistic approach will never consider any acknowledgement of “design” which would allow for a “designer” (although I would argue that they do anyway, by assigning intelligence and omnipotence to “the singularity” and “evolution” and “nature”).

Everything in existence, we are told, is a product of random chaos (though we now know, even chaos possesses order). The model which most of “leading scientists” seem to promote is, in the beginning was The Singularity, a single point of time and space, which was all at once all-encompassing and non-existent, infinitely dense yet technically without mass. The concept, it seems, is that of a cosmic pustule stuck in the skin separating reality from non-reality. A great space vacuum or sort of phantom zone. There is no basis for this, except that an explanation must be made to explain what the atheistic model cannot explain through the lots-and-lots-of-time + lifeless-matter + random-chance = creation-of-everything model. The singularity, which didn’t exist, exploded, sending massive amounts of matter and energy into existence, causing the beginning of the universe, creating all the forces such as gravity and magnetism and electromagnetism.

And that, apparently, is how nothing created everything. That is one heck of a work of science.

The Secret

Beyond the reach of stars, beyond gravity and accepted laws of time; across the known cosmos and guided by the light of rainbows arching different worlds; the satyr sulked and leaped into the flame.

“The secret is protected.”

“The satyr knew, and is no more.”

“Why have you come?”

“The door beckons and begs me into being. I have looked into its eyes and heard it speak.”

“Machine men, zipping round, seductive, pulling millions and millions of Mah‘dor‘mon**…. They never rest nor never sleep, they search the Earth, go round and round. They will find you, my dearest, my darling dear, they will find my love and you will die.”

“How is that to be? I am older than the hill and longer than the tree of legend-length; older than the moon, more seasoned than the suns; my time is squared, though gained for loss; I fell before, I rose again, by righteous will I die no more.”

“Surrender. These creatures do not belong. We will not fight them. We must trust the bridge. We will not fight. We will not force. We are true. We are real. The great mystery is our strength. Cast your light into the door, the door will move. Your energy is in your light.”

“I will bend the cosmos. Press my light into the fabric and roll the galaxy into my palm and fly beyond the sun.”

The door, opening, revealed in truth: “Because it they, who never speak, though in their thoughts do dwell, they never, nor for nary ought, best to their thoughts do tell. And though through those, thrice they therewith, my quaking heart can’t quell, my mind for naught but wicked words, in propense-ed pain do spell.”

That is the secret of the stars.

**A type of canned stew

Lake of Fire

The gun goes off with the tintinnabulation of a thousand bells, sending my soul above my lifeless form and above the man with the .44, a man who looks surprisingly like Samuel L Jackson.  The room, the light, the Earth, all dissolve as I’m pulled inexorably through transmigration, a sort of “Doctor Who” time-tunnel warp across the cosmos.

Despite reports to the contrary, it’s not the dying that kills you. It’s the after. The journey. The unknowing.

When you pass, they give you another body. I don’t know who they are, only that there’s two of them, and one of them looks like Don Knotts. I figured they assist the dead, assign them to their fate, which in my case would not appear to be the good place.

The cool thing is, with these new bodies, your brain becomes smarter than Einstein. You pretty much know everything. Such as the fact, oddly enough, that hell is apparently located somewhere on Titan. Not the worst place for hell to be, I suppose, until you realize exactly where they’re putting you.

Most are familiar with the notion of the Lake of Fire. Well, that’s where they’re taking me. Such a beautiful little world, Titan. A thin purple haze separates the atmosphere from deep space, the bright bursts of reflected light shimmers off Saturn in the distance, creating aurora-like displays, though the illumination is brief. Streaks of meteorites appear as candles, too numerous to count, across the sky. And from the depths of the lake, a lake of methane and ethane, clear as crystal, I will look upward and glimpse my only light, a tiny pin-prick in an endless night.

Falling, I drop like a cinder block to the very bottom, as if through thin air. The liquid permeates right through me, a cold so cold it burns like fire. And I curse the name Sam Jackson for putting me there. My mind cries out to God, begging for another chance. And for a moment, I return. The one like Don Knotts responds, in terms uncertain, that I blew my chance at the bar.

“Please,” I begged, “let me talk to God.”

“You just did,” he answered, and dropped me back down. My mind raced through the implications before the pain tore through my senses. Somehow, I couldn’t quite get my mind around the most astonishing fact of all.

Don Knotts is God.

Flight

At the center there are monsters, invisible, beyond the reach of everything, where light becomes dark. Hypocycloidal shapes surround the surface, along the edges of a chase that never ends. The pursuit pays a price, but a price at what cost, and to what possible end? How much is this one worth? Or that one?

“The hate of men will pass when dictators die and we possess their power.”

The power of the masses, flowing into form, a single power-mass far flung into the center where the monsters roam in shadow.

“Relax. Let it flow. You are the creator.”

“Is this real? Or just a ride?”

“Whatever you think it is, you can change it anytime. Don‘t be afraid.”

I hold my finger to the moon. I fix my gaze until the finger disappears. The ground begins to quake. Vertical potential surpasses downward pull, and I begin to fly.

Elohim and the Vibration of Light

And the earth, she-became chaos and vacancy, and darkness-became over surfaces-of abyss; and spirit-of Elohim, vibrating over surfaces-of the waters; and he-is-saying, Elohim, he-shall-become light, and he-is-becoming light; and he-is-seeing, Elohim, the light that is good; and he-is-separating, Elohim, between the light and between the darkness…

Genesis 1 in its rawest form, transliterates into English like a song. God, as Elohim, whose spirit vibrates and charges up the atmosphere, speaks of light, and light becomes.

The early Earth, without the sun, without the moon, alone in space, a bright primordial ball. The center of all creation.

At what speed, I wonder, did light, which God became, move across the Earth? God, beyond measure, became light beyond measure.

Conventional science will tell a different tale. But where were they when light began? The quantum universe has breath and thought outside of time. Where time has no meaning, our reason does not apply.

The universe is finite and breathed into existence. At what moment did the it become? If light was infinite, could 8 billion years go by at once?

The vibrance of God surrounds us.

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