Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Garden of Nonsense by Ben Goertzel

an image of myself, first two dimensional then nine dimensional, standing naked amidst wild vines and grasses, orchids of all types shining out passion colors The plants are speaking to me in various languages, none of which I fully understand – I get a few words here and there – the feelings are more evident They are telling me that I have created them and they love me They are telling me that I am totally insane They are telling me that I used to be God – no, the universe – and for some reason I occluded my mind, blotted out part of my divine vision, They are telling me I'm only part of myself, that this garden of nonsense I'm tending is one garden among billions That they, the flowers of my meaningless hopes, dreams and delusions, are unique species, but other similarly unique species exist in other similarly unique gardens within the boundaries of what used to be my perfect godly universe soul "Tend your nonsense garden!" they tell me "Tend it carefully and truly Infuse it with your mind and body lust, your surreal inventiveness, your trees of knowledge and despair. Ensure that we, the flowers of your bleeding, tears and laughter, display a strange beauty that sings at the resonant frequency of your innermost core. Then one day your love will come. She'll step into your garden, looking surprising or familiar, gorgeous in unexpected ways, and she'll stare at your flowers vines and grasses with awe She'll reach out her hand and extend to you flowers, a bouquet grown in her own garden of exquisite nonsense, not dead flowers but plants complete with roots, for you to plant in the soil of your mind, to add new shapes to your dictionary of colors, lusts and beauties, to crosspollinate with your lifetime of screams and inventions, creating new blooms that are yours and hers and hers and yours."

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