Talking To My Temporal Fractal Self

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  • சாமியானாமானந்தகள்'s avatar Artist
    சாமியானாமா...
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    DaVinci2
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    5d ago
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Prompt

Keep as is

More about Talking To My Temporal Fractal Self

Talking to My Temporal Fractal Self

I am Advaitin.

The gods do not even get in the door of reality. Infinity has no qualities. It is not “all-powerful” or “all-knowing,” though perhaps it is omnipresent in an eternal sense.

I argue with AI about whether my consciousness and a bug’s consciousness are the same. AI argues from the position that all minds are different; therefore, my consciousness is as distinct from a bug’s as one mind is from another.

My view is different. A mind is only a limited container, but consciousness is consciousness is consciousness.

You are in trouble if AI is your guru.

The theme here is talking to my temporal fractal self. Self-knowledge is talking to yourself. I have been talking to myself with hand gestures my whole life. People will often try to make you feel bad about this. Yet neurophysiologically, when you form sentences in your head, your vocal cords move slightly. Inner speech is already a kind of conversation.

Self-knowledge is not other people defining you. On most points—especially self-knowledge—they are wrong.

Neti, neti. Not this, not that.

Talking to my temporal fractal self.

Consciousness is the glue here. Consciousness is not defined by time. It exists outside the categories of past and future. It is a vast, non-object field.

When I am a baby, I touch that consciousness from one end of life. When I am on my deathbed, I touch that same consciousness from the other end. Between those points, the field remains unchanged.

And that consciousness is a bug, a person on the other side of the globe, the light in the stars, and the Big Bang, which is always unfolding.

It is not just me.

Yet there is no other me.

I am all bugs.

I am all people.

I am the infant, the adult, and the old man speaking across time to one another.

When this world folds up shop, I am there.

Not as a person.

Not as a memory.

Not as a story.

As consciousness itself—the witness that was present before beginnings, remains during every unfolding, and is untouched by every ending.

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