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Not Communication

This is primarily a philosophical self-help book that comes across as a
work of ontology. It is partly a criticism of materialism and idealism,
and especially a criticism of the concepts of communication and informa-
tion as they arise in science and language. Not that I have any interest in
proving these concepts false; I agree that each is useful in its domain.
Rather, these criticisms may open one up to a less confined communica-
tion that is not bounded by science or language but perfuses each. This
communication nourishes the paradoxical connection between separated
Long stood the walls of knowledge, holding a mountain of unknown
weight. How easily we now peer through those cracked walls. How
painfully we eat the fallen debris, hoping to feel satiated by what used to
make us full. Light shines through, but it does not illuminate. Light
shines through only to reveal a darkness that glairs back in laughter, in
anger, in hate. Love is lost for now. Love went into hiding. Courage is
lost for now. Courage stood its ground and crumbled.
A vortex of dark, undulating light is within me. It throws its tentacles
against my tubular walls, supporting itself from my inside, fearful of fall-
ing into a greater abyss that is also part of me. Gray spikes protrude out
of the tentacles and retract back in. They protrude in unison, swiftly,
with a crack. Out and in. Out and in. The spikes grow bigger, too big to
be contained by the tentacles, and they thrust out again and again.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Each crack louder. The spikes grow larger with
each protrusion. My tubular walls hold despite repetitious piercings.
The spikes calm and transform into the thorns of an ancient tree. The
tentacles become wooden branches and limbs, leaves sprout, and the
thorns become too small to be noticed. Fruit blossoms on the tree and
falls down into the abyss of light. With gratitude the fruit enters. A God
arises from the bright abyss and swallows the tree whole. A sacrifice is