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I’m a fan of “Hyperbole and a Half” by Allie Brosh.

The depression she describes was not mine, but it struck a chord of sorts. I fight on gamely for that frabtious day when I too will nevermore give a flying fuck. So this is written, more or less, to her.  Did you know this is an actual spiritual epiphany? It’s been totally documented. Seriously. As in:

“The ultimate utter meaninglessness of life in a universe in which myriad lives appear, and are always extinguished and forgotten may fill you with despair. But, this is the ultimate freedom. That nothing ultimately matters.” This guy wrote that, or something pretty close. I could relate to it. 

I think about sociopaths lacking certain circuits, telling people they are murdering, “Hey. Chill out. It doesn’t matter! Revel! I’m enjoying your demise!” And I shudder at the implication of nothing ultimately mattering. Because, that sort of person has to be part of the same being-ness as all the rest of us. And I think about whether I should participate in BitCoin. Shall I be an imitation sociopath? Or shall I stay with Jesus? Shall I do what Lord Voldemort would do? Or should I do what Gautama the Buddha would do?

But then, I get all tangled up in Bohr and Copenhagen like a kitten in yarn, and the quantum wave collapse overwhelms me with the Copenhagen group’s secretly discussed concern. For without an observer, how could a quantum event collapse into some-thing-ness?! The implication of the quantum wave collapse is that consciousness is fundamental to the physics of this universe, or how could any of those waves have collapsed into some-thing-ness at the beginning?

And the words of a 90 year old friend of Bohr’s come to mind. He said that he asked Bohr and Bohr said he didn’t want his career derailed in epistemology. Which I thought was really very sensible of Bohr. One can’t overwhelm the public’s ability to process stuff, and religion is a very big deal with us humans. Seriously, just look at how hard it is to educate people about money just a little.

And I am left to wonder. Does all this being-ness mean anything? Could it? Then I wonder the opposite. How could all this being-ness mean nothing? Doesn’t it mean that existence exists? At least that. That is such a mind-blowing thing to contemplate if you let yourself.

Even if it is ultimately nothing, like a dream of blue turtles, there is obviously some sort of ultimate consciousness, sort of like god, but not god like the big baboon in the sky sort of god that people make up. This is god like the god that is everywhere and everything sort of god that is sort of a physics kind of being-ness god. Fairly Buddhist, except it’s not voidness, it’s every-thing-ness. At least, I think it is.

And there my epiphany tangle rests, wurbling back and forth. Shall I make dollars on BitCoin? Wurble, wurble, wurble, wurble.

And then the Mormons come to the door and I invite them in for tea and crumpets, and I wonder at the strangeness of bizarre ideology coupled with a pretty nice lifestyle in this ultimate universal thing we are all deployed in while appreciating the whiteness of their shirts and the straightness of their ties.

Mormon. I just couldn’t do it. I could never believe in a planet all my own that I get after I die. And saving all my ancestors? Dear god. What about my great uncle, the mean alky who murdered his wife and embezzled millions from his own son so that his son went bankrupt?

With that guy saved for eternity populating his own planet like a god with tons of luscious uterus bearing humans? That’s just too weird a planet for me to inhabit even if I could take it seriously.

Same with the Xenu church of sci-fi people. It’s a pretty good life. Like Mormonism, you get dibs on jobs, and business connections into the deal. Only South Park can do the Sci-Fi people justice. What Scientologists actually believe.

But I invite the Mormons in for tea. They are nice people, and want to talk earnestly. I reflect on it, and think that it’s mostly an instinct visible in baboons who like to have a baddass baboon in charge to make the troop safe. I think with us humans, even some baddass baboons want to have a badder baboon in charge. Or else a fictional one is just more convenient.

Baddass bigger badder baboon  is what I see when in the temple of Amon Ra or Sargon at that wonderful museum in London. These dudes needed to feel a badder baboon helping. When they happened to win they carried their weird genes forward. And slowly the human race became a species that likes to have these things in their minds. We make them up because it feels good to be protected. Any old stuff will do as long as someone can get it going.

Who got it going though? Mostly, it seems, florid psychotics.

Mostly. A few were not. But most of those prophets were flat-out batshit wack-job crazy. Really. Or sociopaths. Or both.

I have their followers in for tea, I do. Mostly, I talk to their nice followers after the psychotic wack-job crazies who started the business are safely dead, like Lenin. It’s kind of fun. Most are intelligent, and talking to me can throw them for a loop or two. Sometimes I can discuss with them what it was like for me to talk to a real, living founder of one of their religions.

But, I remain ensconced in the quantum wave collapse and its implication for us.

What shall I do? I shall consult my museShe does seem to know the fans of this blog.