Original

ORIGINAL

If only it was a void. That would have been comforting; the vast
emptiness of space and time a tranquil balm.
This condition had the certain horror of the absolute. No object
intruded in the nihilistic chill, for in this non-place there was no
space for material being. With no space there could be no time. These
parameters allowed for no motion, no thought and no existence.
Yet he was, he incontrovertibly was, against all the laws of reason,
if even such laws had a place where there were no places. He was aware
of his own being, though there were no externals to affix his thoughts
to, knowing that he was, he began to reason from this simple premise.
If he would be, then being was possible and other minds, different
minds, can be.
This idea aroused him, sending shivers of exuberance through his
cognitive framework. Devoid of neuronal and hormonal structures the
emotional experience was muted. He reached out his volition, a pure
light of analysis, searching for syntax in the language of nullity.
Such optimistic philology was birthed in failure and loneliness rose
from within binding his core in frosted razor wire.
Feelings lashed against him in great torrents; pinpricks of poignant
precipitation numbed and enlivened him with equal severity. With no
confidante to share the experiences, the oscillating effects were an
odious burden. Time as it was, wasn't and all he felt and thought
happened both instantaneously and eternally.
There could be no bifurcation of beginning or end. Separation of one
introspection from another was likewise impossible. So the break
through came immediately or eventually, it matters not.

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Reason proved its value. In his reflection he imagined that the way his
reality was ordered was inviolate. Imagination cessioned to logic and
he realised that the world in some sense he did not occupy, was the
firmament of his mind. The realisation wrung a death rattle from his
self-incarceration. The continuum of non-existence vibrated in protest
as the strings of his essence strummed a harmony subtler than any
symphony.
He was in rapture. Ecstasy flooded him as his debut as an active agent
filled him with a joy he thought he could not know. Redoubling his
efforts caused nothingness to fluctuate wildly. Abstracts cascaded,
leaping freely with wild abandon. The doors of possibility flung open
revealing to him a champaign of boundless choice. Then an odd thing
happened. There was a then. Time was and in that inchoate state its
need for space was answered. Like hungry lovers they cleaved together
exploring one another in complete interpenetration. Fortunately the
relationship blossomed and they grew entwined at a blistering and
exponential rate. Their eagerness to bring existence to its fullness
the culmination of his idle speculation. These lovers did not fill
everything, they were everything.
He was stunned by the pulchritude of being awed by its sublime
architecture and humbled that it had arisen from his will. Now his
thoughts were more than mere conjectures. Each cogitation was
flawlessly matched by a physical correlate. Every stray concept found a
resonance in reality.
At first his thoughts were wild and unkempt leaping rapidly from one
idea to another like maniacal frogs. Stars formed and exploded with a
dazzling brilliance. Great tongues of flame arced across the celestial
stage weaving patterns of golden
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beauty. Some matter cooled even against the backdrop of unbridled
conflagration. Enormous rock forms hurtled vast distances, sometimes
plunging into seas of molten plasma, other times slamming into their
kin with monstrous force, sending showers of offspring on a frenzied
run.
With the passing of time and the development of maturity his mind
began to become more orderly, gradually aspiring to the poesy of
mathematics. Stars stabilised and cast off their excess in intricate
spirals that coalesced into massive orbs, tracing their orbits after
his aesthetic arithmetic. All things moved in perfect harmony, his
essence now refined but still binding to all.
A lack became apparent to him. His beautific mind had crafted a
fullness beyond measure and still existence was becoming as much a
prison as its contradiction. He knew what haunted him but was afraid to
give name to it, loneliness. The edifice of existence had been
skilfully wrought from the bedrock of his being but his primal problem
persisted.
He brought his concentration to a focus. A sharp and innovative
intellect was his to wield. He was all that was. That at least was
clear and simple. It would not be possible to generate others like
himself, for there was nothing with which to render them. He postulated
that he could split himself into several distinct intelligences but was
unable to reconcile the loss of self inherent in that choice. The other
possibility presented him with a more complex issue. How could he
generate in others shaped from him a consciousness of their own? The
answer, when it came, was as straightforward as it was graceful. As
long as he maintained his orderly thinking he could sustain parallel
algorythms that could operate with a verisimilitude of free will.
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Sentience budded sweetly like the first rose of summer. It formed in
isolated enclaves where ever sacred axiom granted the potential. These
beings were weak in flesh and frail of feeling, but they satisfied him
with their individualised personalities. Huge differences underlined
each expression of selfhood both interspecies and introspecies.
Diversity became the standard.
He deemed that existence had qualitatively improved since the
inception of intellect other than his own. The antics of the milling
creatures and their plenitude of experience filled his heart to
capacity. Still a nagging doubt remained; a nebulous uncertainty
stalked the periphery of his omniscience, its eyes glowing in the dark
like some feral predator. Although creation now seemed complete the
body a perfect monarch crowned with the glory of thought, yet still a
shade of dread persisted. Like all his lesser fellows without change he
would stagnate. Habituation leads to insensitivity and then to misery.
So he must soon create again, but that great fear rises as if to engulf
him.
"How could I follow that?"