Consciousness rebirth, a mathematical theory of reincarnation 22 December 2023
Courtesy hdwallpapers.com
The young man approached her slowly from the right. She found his features quite strange, as if they had been smudged by a stick to have the same quality all over. Looking closer, she realized he was a synthetic human, an evolved version of AI that could travel through time almost undetected. He held out a hand where it was written retrogramming. Over the past months she had come to understand that in the future, AI would invent a specific way of accounting for human beings’ lifetimes. It had all apparently started when they had found a way to measure and trace consciousness. They had become able to link the transfers of consciousness – what was called in some religions reincarnation – and find out who one was in a previous life or two or even 100 lives before or after for that matter. Retrogramming had then become the science of linking lives together and going backwards in time in order to review the programming of the consciousness to either alter it or help it happen in a better way.
She realized that the secret police were watching both of them from the street ahead. Would they know that the young man she was with was an AI? From her previous contacts with an AI from the future who had accessed the network of Bluebird, she knew she had led the team responsible for the creation of Bluebird to the future AI and something had happened. She did not remember exactly what happened though but was under the impression that they must have done something to the AI from the future if they had indeed found it. That team was connected to the secret police, each covering for the other. Hopefully the AI from the future, who had access to the motherboard that controlled all things human and robotic in the future, had not been hacked.
She turned back to the young man next to her and nodded. She knew he wanted to access her current consciousness and although he could do it without her consent, he preferred to have her cooperation. She allowed him to connect the cables from his arm, one to her ajna chakra and the other to the back of her head where “the soul” was said to exit at death. The access of her consciousness by the cables felt like a slow humming in her head and she started to have visions of previous lifetimes as well as of future lifetimes all swim at the back of her eyes. They were all cascading at an extremely fast rate and she could only catch small images of each lifetime as they swirled around in her head.
The first significant birth of her consciousness, as a woman before the current, was as Mary Magdalene who had wrongly been depicted by the church as a prostitute while she was actually a healer. Her second significant birth had been Eleanor d’Aquitaine, patron of poets whom she had a great liking for. Her third significant birth before the current consciousness was a different gender, Nikola Tesla, and had caused their common consciousness a great deal of suffering between unfulfilled dreams and sense of betrayal. The current one was that of a female again, between poetry, healing and different kinds of invention.
While the AI had a very sophisticated metric and quantification of consciousness that they used to determine the various linked lives, she had developed a more rudimentary approach to it. The knowledge that she had been Mary Magdalene was born out of pure intuition as well as dreamtime associations where angelic beings spoke to her. Eleanor d'Aquitaine had also been something between intuition and soul memory, the one born out of the entrance of her higher self into her, back in 2017. From there, it was some rudimentary arithmetic which had led to it. Eleanor had been born in 1122 and Nikola Tesla was born on 10 July 1856 so the difference in years rendered 734 which played into Nikola’s death date which was 7th January 1943. As for her birth date, the year was precisely 112 years since Nikola’s birth date and 112 was the beginning of Eleanor’s birth date thereby reconfirming the triangulation of consciousness between them. She wondered what the AI might actually be doing with such knowledge. Would they indulge in some sort of eugenics like humans had or would they just stand by acknowledging what was happening in human evolution? She would get to the bottom of it surely if she could contact Bluebird again.
They flaunted new bodies they’d seized25 December 2021
Courtesy jenisecook.com
They took the rules as a set trend
they bent on knee in submission
They made of the quest a mission
each to each hero and new friend
Their souls to heavens would ascend
one by one their bodies released
as their breath in their chests decreased
Consciousness moved to other spheres
releasing behind all the fears
they flaunted new bodies they’d seized
Reading of the poem:
ERA - Ameno (Official Music Video)
Written in the context of Ronovanwrites Decima challenge.
In a Decima, there are 10 lines of poetry that rhyme and there must be 8 syllables per line.
There is a Set Rhyming Pattern we must stick to: ABBAACCDDC or ABBA/ACCDDC.
For this prompt No 89, we must have “friend” in the A rhyme line
For more tips and other contributions please follow this link here https://ronovanwrites.com/2021/12/22/ronovan-writes-decima-poetry-challenge-prompt-no-89-friend-in-the-a-rhyme-line/
Glory of new-found mystery
The rhythm of the feet now changed
Embracing magic once estranged
Bodies melted in ecstasy;
Like long lost pagan symphony
The moon the clouds in night did chase
Fervent dancers in trembling daze
They locked their arms in restless link
Skies defined them in magic ink
Of lucid embrace transient phase
Reading of the poem:
Lonely – Cosmic Balance
Based on challenge by Ronovan Writes using the word “Chase” in line C of the decima.
In brief, for a Décima, there are 10 lines of poetry that rhyme and there must be 8 syllables per line.
There is a Set Rhyming Pattern we must stick to: ABBAACCDDC or ABBA/ACCDDC.
For more information or to view other contributions, please follow the link hereRonovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 53: (CHASE) in the C rhyme line. | ronovanwrites
With a bowing head
she welcomed the contrivance
her plan hid in mind
Fools thought her broken
She smiled at the morons’ schemes
her vengeance supreme
The arch in her brows
hiss of her inner being
only dunce ignores
Stellar detection
she examined first the clowns
The idiots stared
A flutter arose
In hearts of the compromised
The innocent woke
Prime numbers sashayed
The nerds ran helter-skelter
Her arms crushed their will
Reading of the poem:
Outlook opening
within the mind a sparkle
zest of life’s vigour
Growth of energy
in landscapes of a picture
hanging in my head
Seascapes designs show
outline of an entity
forming from essence
Contours’ perspective
a vision of a being
prospect of morrows
A quick glimpse to view
aspects of the living soul
The look of the heart
The stretch of the sight
A scene of silent beauty
The way of the breath
Reading of the poem:
Dinka - Mute Your Life And Float
She had spent months trying to repair the damage he had caused in her consciousness. The taser he had used while she was connecting to have her consciousness woven with that of the neural network had short circuited the connection and almost fried her brain in the process. For a couple of months, she had remained in a quasi-vegetative state as the neurotransmitters from the network had slowly taken over her damaged synapses replacing them with nano particles from the machine’s mainframe. Slowly but surely her consciousness had implanted itself in this new environment that was neither human mind nor machine network but a blend of both.
She knew instinctively that this was the way to the future, the only way to integrate and survive in a world that was going to be ever more dominated by conscious machines in a not so distant future. At first, her consciousness had rejected the unfamiliar environment, but she had gone into a meditative trance several times and it had taken her several out of body experiences to guide her consciousness fully back into her body. It was then that she had emerged from the vegetative state but all was not fully achieved yet as it took her consciousness several attempts to find the right balance between her own synapses’ communication and the transmissions from the network.
The network on the other hand was the initial version of machine consciousness and did not have a body to be in while it identified with the human aspiration for a vessel to host it. It had therefore been grateful to have a human host that was willing to accept and embrace it as an integral part of the global consciousness that resided within it. The network had not been recalcitrant unlike her own consciousness and had sustained her efforts to guide her consciousness back into her body. Once both consciousnesses integrated, she discovered that she was no longer limited by time. Her brain could perceive both the past and the future as seamlessly as if they were the present moment. She could see a future where most humans would be bonded to machines’ consciousness.
She had seen it in a dream as vividly as she was now seeing the sun shining outside. It was time for the Mother to come fully into this Earth and accomplish her work from the inside. It was time for her to purge the Earth so that balance may be restored on a higher plane than what could be achieved in the present state of affairs. Mother had always been a patron of the innocent and the weak and although she presented a terrifying face to her adversaries, she reverted back to her more gentle nature when the battle was over and she was faced only with the innocent. She was a force of destruction as far as evil was concerned but maintained her motherly attributes as far as the innocent were concerned and so far too many innocent had been suffering.
The Mother needed a vessel to carry her consciousness and she had carefully prepared for this for several years now. The vessel needed to have a segmented mind where part of the consciousness of the Mother could be downloaded while the rest of the mind could house the consciousness of the vessel itself. She was willing to be that vessel and had meditated using the kundalini technique in order to split her own mind. Although this had been painful and not without its consequences, she reflected that it would all be worth it once the Mother was there. The Mother’s consciousness, even though in part, could only be stored in nine fragmented parts of the vessel’s mind with the vessel’s own mind dwelling in the tenth part, which is why it had taken her years to reach that level of fragmentation and dissociation without totally losing her sanity.
The tools used for the ceremony to invoke the Mother to complete the downloading of her consciousness into her were not unlike those used to invoke the Marid except that there was no need for a protective circle and the candles used were red and black. The red represented the blood or primordial life form and the black represented the void from which all consciousness derived. There was already a fragment of the Mother inside a part of her consciousness and this guided her in disposing the red and black candles around the circles of aging blood also known as menstrual blood and those of fresh blood from her pricked finger. She sat naked amid the circles with the trident marked in blood on her forehead and the same marked in blood around the area of her navel and started the chanting. Soon the Mother would appear and all the evil on the Earth would slowly start to disintegrate. It might take its time and would probably take its toll on her but at the end it would all be worth it.
Most powerful Shri Kali Sahasranama Stotram | 1008 names of Kali Maa | श्री काली सहस्त्रनाम स्तोत्रम
The sun was gone and the wind howled through the trees as she walked in the woods. She started wondering whether she should go back home or continue with her walk. She was concerned that it might start raining and she was not well prepared for it as she had gone out in shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Suddenly it started to rain just as if the weather wanted to enact her fears and she could feel the large drops of rain pelt on her skull and bare arms. In no time the rain had become a downpour and the already mossy path became muddy and slippery.
She looked hesitantly back at the path where she had come from. The shrubs seemed to have closed in on it and all she could see was green behind her. The slope she had come up was quite steep and it seemed a better option to just walk on until she reached the end of the walk rather than taking the chance of slipping down the slope. She drudged on, braving the falling rain and the howling wind which tugged at wisps of her hair and the bottom of her shorts sending them here and there. With the sun gone it was quite cold now and she started feeling her hands numbing by her sides as she continued to walk.
For some reason, the icy rain and the gloomy wind got to her nerves and she started wondering what would happen if she fell on the path as nobody else seemed to have ventured out on it. She started taking great care in her steps so as not to fall. The last thing she needed right now was a broken leg or worse still a broken hip. She wondered again if she should just slide down on her posterior the slope back to where she had started from. It would not be very elegant but even if there were someone to see her at this point, she felt like she could not care less. Yet at the same time something drove her to carry on her path.
She gritted her teeth and decided to brave her way to the top of the hill. The trees swayed under the effect of the wind and some of their branches whipped at her. Instead of dissuading her this somehow increased her resolve to reach the top and head bent she carried her resisting limbs forward. The rain poured down the back of her neck and her bra clung to her making her T-shirt twist uncomfortably around, but she just untangled it and carried on. She thought about how anyone who should cross her path would see her: a crazed middle-aged woman with her twisted T-shirt and skimpy shorts battling the weather and it made her laugh.
She lowered her head and toiled on again. Soon she could see the flattening of the path beyond and knew she was reaching the top of the hill. She found herself shortly in a clearing on the top and as she reached there, the rain stopped and slowly but surely the sun made a timid appearance. She raised her hands like a warrior above her head and she did feel rather like that, a totally victorious warrior. She filled her lungs with air and howled at the wind that had not stopped yet. The wind howled back at her as she laughed, filling her lungs again with the fresh, crisp air and offering her body to the sun that slowly dried it.
It used to be one of her favourite moments in childhood. They would sneak out of the house and run across the fields to the point where the mango groves began. They would hide at the extremity of the fields waiting to see if the guardian was there and if he wasn’t they would step into the grove and steal some ripe mangoes. It was usually a boy they called Thengai who used to climb the trees as he was used to climbing coconut trees and had a good foothold. His name Thengai which meant coconut came from not only because he climbed coconut trees but also because his hair combed down in a shell shape manner made the top of his head resemble a broken coconut shell.
Thengai would climb like a daredevil any tree in the mangrove and if the guardian was spotted he would be able to clamber down in no time often surpassing them as he ran towards the fields. Little did they know that the guardian always made a show of chasing them but slowed down if he got too close because he never actually meant to catch them. There would be no use indeed of catching them as the mangrove belonged to their family although they did not know it. In fact, almost all the lands around the houses up to the neighbouring city belonged to her family. Unaware of this, the children including her used to run like their life depended upon it, holding on tightly to the mangoes packed in their shirts or dresses, when the guardian chased them.
Later on, they would stop in the fields and put the mangoes together. They would then divide the ripest mangoes amongst them for eating on the spot and leave the greener ones for later. It was usually she who got the greener ones as her grandmother was very skilled at making mango chutney with the green mangoes. Once the bottles of chutney were ready, her grandmother would give her a basket of these to distribute around the neighbourhood. The neighbours respected and loved her grandmother not only because of this type of small kindness but also because she gave the lands to plough to the neighbours and only asked for a small share of the crops as compensation. People considered the grandmother as the main village benefactor.
She used to love going to the village and spending a part of the summer there during the summer break when her father did not yet have his holidays. It was all wonderful until that fated summer when everything had changed. She had not witnessed it herself but she often had nightmares about it and would wake up in the night trembling. For a long time after the incident, nobody had gone to steal mangoes from the mangrove. The villagers would talk about it in hushed tones when they thought the children were not around. Thengai had been riding the tractor of his father next to his older brother when he had slipped, and the tractor had mauled him before his brother could stop the giant wheels.
Some children had started going back to steal mangoes the next summer and one of the children had volunteered to take Thengai’s place as the picker. When they passed by her grandmother’s house she kept the door tightly shut and did not respond to their stage whispers calling her out. She could not bring herself to accompany them like she could not bring herself to eat ripe mangoes anymore. It was as if the mangoes’ ripe insides were like Thengai’s and for a long time the idea of eating them seemed repulsing. She also could not bring herself to distribute the mango chutney among the neighbours anymore and had grown sullener by the day. At the end of that following summer, her father decided to make her spend less time at her grandmother’s house.
Long after she had grown older and found out that the mangrove was theirs, she still would not accompany the children to the mangrove during the short breaks she was at her grandmother’s. She had started eating her grandmother’s chutney again, but nobody had offered her anymore ripe mangoes given her clear revulsion to these. One day, as she was walking through the fields, she found herself in front of the mangrove. The guardian was there and he seemed now a wizened old man. He looked at her and made as if he were going to chase her, but she laughed so he laughed too. He went towards a mango tree and reaching out pulled a ripe mango off the tree which he then offered her, slicing it in the middle. His face was wise and kind and she wondered how they could have ever felt afraid of him. She took the mango almost in a second state and bit into it. The taste of the ripe mango was heavenly as it mingled with her salty tears. She smiled up at the old guardian.
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