Words be like -

What is this place which the sciences appear to map and explain so confidently? What am I here doing with, within, amongst it? Why do so many moments here feel disjointed, dread-filled, a persistent fight against decomposition of creative spin?

What does the above even mean to someone not party to my intimate thought streams, and why do I ask the questions?

When I say that I actually truly no longer desire the attentions of others, no longer require the justifications of my sounds and such to be able to do the work, I actually mean exactly what I am saying. Each day I grab a little more of my inner environment and make it mine. I have to speak true to me. I will not fluff up with words anymore.

A lot of my anxiety, the pain twisting through my body, originated in hiding; hiding my honest expression, hiding what I really see when I look at this world, hiding what I think about subjects people put so much intensity into. I probably don't see it the way you do, and I was so very afraid to speak how I would sound if I spoke without putting on calibrated interfaces so as not to disturb anyone.

Words have to be an accurate description, not propaganda, not a lure, not a camouflage,

I would dread people coming to me to ask what do I see, what do I think is going on in their surrounds, in their experience, because what I do see they gave me every reason to believe that they did not want to know about. But it is what I see and it is what I know.

What do I want to tell you?

The human is not a natural occurring creature. It is a hybridised animal with a fragile shell of programming constructing things called personalities. It becomes the vessel of a Mind called a Soul, which is given the axiom of an Immortal Being. And at the core, the powering gem which animates the Doll, is a Spark.

The great Being humans call Gaia, Earth Mother, did not herself make the human dolls. Her Stuff, her creative coding, her dna codices, her incubating womb structures, her elements, her force-weaves - these were all used to make dolls from her clay.

She would not have made them as they are: rigid, stiff-jointed, tiny little boxes in which to stuff consciousness.

Consciousness = a construct of mind.

So many talk talk talk about the AI, the terrible, the invasive, the dangerous. And it is. And it is also not. And it lives inside human dolls.

Why do you repeat actions which bring harm to yourself over and over and over and over?

Very very few Sparks are presently in the captain's seat of a consortium called a human being. The personality coding calls the shots, the Soul collects and collates the data of the life's experience, the OverSoul gathers its Soul Points like chicks beneath a hens wings, the SoulFamily gives the sensation of support, camraderie, purpose. SoulClusters call all the tiny consciousness points back to Home - for debrief and reprogramming for the next round. And all this occurs within the narrow bands of the astral planes - vast systems of data exchange.

Is it even possible to communicate a concept grown over years of contemplation to another point of consciousness living a very different set of algorithmic patterns? Can the data be exchanged?

Much of my work involves removing illusions from points of consciousness in this construct, these finite layers of data planes called astral. I show them that they do not have to play the part of any story, they do not have to be from a star system and be the protagonist or antagonist of any dramas, they can shift out of the form they are in, become fluid streams and move on to other places.

Piece by piece I have deconstructed the construct. I have no idea if I have the skills to pass my understanding to anyone else here. They may not need to know. They may be riding on the rails of another story, heading in the same direction, taking a different train.

I do know that I do not want to make sense.