Disclaimer:  I am not a very bright man, slow even, and what I write is only my interpretation of a variety of subjects; a hodgepodge of random baseless opinions contrived as a result of my predilection to mortal form.  This disclaimer is mainly for my dear friends and family who are educators and/or doctors whom I respect and love dearly.

MEMORIES

Memories are funny things.  They are an echoed byproduct of some action or event that helps substantiate or mark it’s verisimilitude to your personal reality.  Never implying that if you don’t remember it, then it didn’t happen, and therefore cannot affect you; but rather every moment you live consciously requires drawing from memories to ascertain and understand this present moment.  How do you know how to read or even know the definition of “Read”?  Memories are the very fabric of your personal reality; consequently, your memories assist in constructing your personal present moment.  This very moment is a mind-blowingly abstruse equation solution involving unfathomable points of variance that your brain is analyzing ahead of the time perceived in this reality “snapshot” which must consider and record all facets incorporating who, what, where, when, why, and how.   These snapshots of reality happen after every moment during the passage of time and are generated every instant past “now”.   Know that every “now” is a future memory and thus presently I’m being observed by my future consciousness.  I wonder where I am right now, considering that the past, present, and future all happen simultaneously?  Right now, I am on my deathbed, right now, I’m being born, right now, I type this entry but my consciousness’ ability to hold all three simultaneously is diminished in this form.   The future is supposition, the present holds infinite options, and the past is but a memory.

I rationalized to myself that memories are dependent on two influences; my presence at the time of an event to be witnessed and whatever action created that event.

I have this early memory of walking on the Grand Concourse from 196^th toward Kingsbridge, mid-autumn afternoon.   I can feel the warmth of the sun on my neck, and the brisk wind that is ever present on the drafty boulevard.  The bustling streetcars traveling in both directions create an ever-present hum and rumble as buses and cars hit potholes in the pavement; we had beautiful lush trees along the road at one time.  I’m walking with my Mother holding her right hand.  I recall feeling as if the width of the Grand Concourse seemed like a mind-blowing distance at 4 years old but still I loved being outside exploring the Bronx, New York streets. I was mostly well behaved as the possibility of being struck by a surprise hand or shoe was something I had learned to be wary of very early in my Puerto Rican household.   I’m with my beautiful mother; she’s holding my hand, I think I was falling behind, she’s pulling me.   I looked at the people passing us and some looked back at me.   Clearly, I felt as if I could feel the people, everyone, and everywhere.

I remember then looking at my little hand, and thinking to myself “Why am I stuck in here; why? Why do I have toes and fingers, hands and feet, and the familiar voice in my head that’s always with me?  I can hear it and it can sound like anyone or anything.   And most of all, why can’t I see from someone else’s eyes?   The people across the street; what about them?  Why can’t I see over there, where they are?  That just wasn’t right.  I should be able to see everywhere.  Something has changed.

I look up at the clouds drifting by lazily in the bright midday, and tell myself, “it’s not the clouds that are moving, it’s us” and suddenly I was stricken with nausea as I felt the earth spinning.

I choose to walk in that young body again, at this moment, if only in my mind, as my mind has and always will exist in all conceivable time, and even more within the inconceivable; I know now that I am eternal.  I can cross over, back in this QSD timeline, at will; the sole caveat is that I can’t change anything I see.  Memory time travel is reliant on me actually having had been there at some point to witness or intersect the QSD axons.  You would think I hold many memories, but age and Multiple Sclerosis brain lesions poses challenge, (10 years ago I was told by one of the leading Neurologists in the state of Georgia that I’d be in a wheelchair in 6 months.)   but when it’s time to recall these memories your life seems so finite.   Still, I try to shape my memory catalog compiled and forgotten over 41 years.

From one moment to the next and in the blink of an eye, my consciousness shifts from walking with Mom toward the clock tower on Fordham road showing 4:44 pm, to the bathroom at home, my tiny brown feet walking across the hexagonal black & white mini tiles.  I carefully climb atop the bathtub rim to reach the sink for a nice cold drink of tap water, I was so small.  The white enamel tub-rim beneath my miniature feet was so important to me, a magical fixture that granted me the freedom to fetch my own water, and I didn’t have to use a cup or ask anyone.  I wipe the city tap water from my chin and shuffle down the hall toward the kitchen through the beaded doorway entering the sala facing Valentine; this is the “TV room”.  We have a 20-inch color TV and a foam fold out futon.  I throw myself onto one of the two giant 50 lbs. throw pillows in the corner that my mother kept and reupholstered.

In that second of my life, I take a “reality snapshot” and then move between timelines.  I’m here right now, snapshot #1,295,982,800 or my fifteen-thousandth day of this “Jacques Experience”.

The “Jacques Experience”

I’ve been consumed lately by this thing I call the “Jacques Experience”; which is my mortal life.  My life is just that, an “experience”.   I know that this physical body I dwell within, that my parents and the world have tagged as Jacques A. Montemoiño, is not truthfully my sentience.  I am the Master Controller and this flesh energy is but one interpretation of me, my avatar, named Jacques.   It’s coincidental how my chosen profession of Video Game Designer has me creating universes, worlds, and the circumstances therein.  A game designer is someone who likes to generate problems and then construct the solutions”; not very different from Hegelian dialectic.  Pointedly, this game of life has rules, but herein lies the caveat; while testing the construct of my build, my avatar is always bound to the parameters of the game.  Mario will never step out of the screen to speak to me.   He will never have any inclination that I have to clean my office; he only knows his existence to be: run and jump.  He believes he is alive in that 2-dimensional reality.  Understand, my avatar is much more expansive than Mario, but the rule still applies.  Subsisting as an avatar I am prevented from knowing the mindset, environment, or reasoning behind my Master Controllers choices, the source code is beyond me.  Nevertheless, I am the avatar and this game is set to “survival-mode”.

I’ve fallen again to depre-sion, low motivation, and cynicism; negativity agitates the rising tide.  For me, there are two schools of thought on existentialism to embrace or reject;

1) The “facade” that tells me I’m alive with others sharing this planet with observable biased consequences for maladroitness at thriving in an unfair cosmic code, but if I keep my head down and blend in, life will be less uncomfortable.  Don’t fight fate the deterministic algorithm as described in the “reality-code” simulation theory by Klee Irwin.  That guy rocks.

and

2) The belief that I am the center of my universe and I am the originator of all things that happen in my reality.  I wield cosmic laws of attraction via consciousness, my crafting tools being free will, and the actions thereof, which comes with its own glitches.  Charles Darwin would call this conundrum, round 3.

Life is a collection of notions and sentiments either absorbed environmentally, socially, or personally and my book of notions has led me to a conscious confluence.  Am I a spectator in my life, a Good Little Sheep (GLA)?  Or am I a player (Architect)?  For example, do I need laws or some religious figure to force me to be a good person (Good Sheep)? or could that just be innate (Architect)?

“Be good or you’ll go to hell”; that sounds a lot like blackmail or at the very least an insane Jail.  “Behave or face the death penalty”.  Being a moral person should be innate with no prodding or bribery of admittance to heaven necessary. Of course we all vacillate to different degrees, nevertheless, cause and effect hold dominion, which pulls me closer to the “Architect” school of thought on existentialism that commands, I am ultimately in control.  If I go to heaven or hell is that not because of my own choices and actions?  Then truly, is God or the devil to thank or blame for anything?  Ironic how the commonly accepted belief is how both only bequeath what is requested, so long as you’re are willing to satisfy the debt.  Remove the religious intonation and you have an equivalent exchange at its rawest form.   Being raised with multiple religious, spiritual, and esoteric doctrines from as early as I can remember, the topic of religion has burned me out.  At a certain age, I learned power flows to where you focus your thought energy.  Did that unlock all the answers in my life? No, it did not, but it made events easier to decode.  No need to look for a scapegoat to blame for anything, my life is great or shit because I made it like that.

The philosophy sounds practical and wise but it is a test to always keep that in the forefront of your mind at all times an in all situations.  It is as if the moment you realize this cosmic truth of yourself being the master controller that the world and universe plot against you.     While doing research for one of my many projects, I stumbled upon the topic of Solipsism.  As per Wikipedia:

“Solipsism is the philosophical idea that only one’s own mind is sure to exist. As an epistemological position, solipsism holds that knowledge of anything outside one’s own mind is unsure; the external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist outside of the mind. As a metaphysical position, solipsism goes further to the conclusion that the world and other minds do not exist”.

This stood in stark contrast to an outside world that I am trapped by or stuck inside of, helpless to fate or divine motion, or even worse, subject to the influences of 8 billion other people via butterfly effect. It also validated how my thoughts can mollify or agitate my past, present, and future.   Now, I inherently am opposed to any formal religion or belief system, so I would never claim to be a solipsist.  Speaking from the “good obedient sheep” subscription, I should think myself weak, dependent, and subjugated to something other than myself and only then will I be given something other than what I called into actuality by my own thoughts and actions?  Preposterous. I dictate my reality and finality; God won’t send me to hell or heaven.  I do that, and that is if you subscribe to that sort of thing.  God doesn’t decide what will happen to me today, I do.  God is just consequence, the  “Equal sign” = after the equation has been set, but only I decide what values are to be factored in.  With that, I swallowed a jagged and sharp pill, I decided to cease following, I am not a good little sheep, but an ageless sentience that designs and creates.  In due course, I will know that this book I am writing and reading is only for me, for I am the Architect.  There is no one else but me, nonetheless I will continue to address “you” all as if you really exist because truly I am the voice of you.  Once again, I’m only an avatar so I mustn’t try to step outside of my construct parameters.  I’m to abide by its strictures, so, I must always keep in mind, that you all believe yourself to be individualistic.  I have no clear recollection of producing the bricks, nor the mortar, of this reality, but I recall authoring blueprints.

Entertaining the idea that there is no world, there is no time, there is no reality besides what I experience and unconsciously construct, feels natural to me.  I created all of my challenges, flaws, and I summoned my enemies for they do not exist, but I created and programmed them to believe that they do, and they will fight to protect the illusion.   I also created my family and friends, my job, and my talents as these were all things that my master controller deeply yearns for.  I am an abstract mosaic, the magnum opus whittled away from Earth and dust, inhabited by the master controller and everything on the stage around me only exists in the mind.   I am the stage, the spotlight is too bright, so I can’t see the faces in the celestial theater audience; I only perform.

This is in direct contradiction to the practice of keeping your head down, the meek shall inherit the Earth, don’t think just follow and be a GLS.  But if I don’t look up, then how do I know who or what I’m following?  Look around you, everyone subscribes clings to some belief system.  But while I ultimately decided Solipsism is not for me, a crack was formed in my view of mortality and existentialism, before, during, and after.  This is the “Jacques Experience”, my life; I must answer to only me.

Of course I don’t want to kill myself to prove this rationale because the world as I know it ends the day I die, only to begin the journey through the next phase of consciousness, but still, I’m not quite ready to check-out from this chapter.  Until that moment I do, I am blocked from knowing the thereafter in this form, but I can feel it, that fabric of the “unseen” photo negative, and I always have.  It was as if I have not pulled back the curtain, but I can hear the cranks and whistles of the wizard working the machine behind it.  My master controller, whom I avatar, speaks to me and gives me gentle prodding through any, and everything; through random conversations overheard, through the way that innocent creatures always find themselves at my doorstep, even the constant presence of crows always around me, and of course there are the numbers that have followed me my whole life.  All of these inaudible mysterious synchronistic events; telling me “This is your universe.  What experience will you create today”?  But, my logic is unscientific and moreover a very lonely path to undertake; an existence-elimination-camp that only you must get through alone.

These thoughts have been voraciously consuming my “now”, hence I haven’t felt inspired or motivated to write.  I haven’t exercised, I struggle to maintain regular communion.  I’m amused by simpleton’s folly, and the physicality of Jacques enraptures me.  Sometimes, I want to just be human, it’s so much simpler. But I can’t coddle my flesh, the board has been set.  I am eternal energy, but my time among men in the world I created, is at its pinnacle.  I can see more clearly the entangled strands of possibilities and timelines.   Benjamin Franklin once said, “Life‘s Tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late”. I wish I had this clarity earlier.

I’ve been alive 15 chiliad sunrises.

Happy chiliad Birthday, me!  I love you.

πμϕ

Selah, Amin

——————— Taking pictures of the sun is impossible lately, the sky is full of aluminum, barium, and strontium based cloud cover.  But here is the image Day 14’974 – November 26th 2017.