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Description
Cosmic Consciousness. Is it possible? While certainly an intriguing concept, there is no scientific proof that it exists. Ah- there is much that science has yet to explain, so I will sacrifice logic to enthusiasm. I can't express how completely the idea enchants me, how attracted I am to the possibility of possessing it. Forget doubt, disregard reality, and imagine. Imagine reaching that peak of intellectual power, of possessing such devastating insight. The wisdom that must accompany such all-encompassing knowledge, the joy that one must feel at untangling the mysteries of our world. Of knowing truth, intimately. I can imagine nothing greater.

LATER...

I have come to a new conclusion on the subject of cosmic consciousness. I no longer wish to posses it. Perhaps this is defeat, deliberate blindness being far more inexcusable than innocent ignorance. I am a coward, but an honest one, honesty being the closest I can come to the immortal Truth. Such sight is granted only to those with the strength to bear it, with the capability to use their vision, enact change, accomplish any sort of random task, so alike to those committed by ordinary men, but at the same time too different to bear the title of superiority for being focused- a mechanical human will, desecrated with knowledge, clicking toward some ultimate goal with soulless precision. Weak men cannot posses such sight. They, aware of the fault within them, like a slash of impurity in a sheet of purest crystal, more degrading in contrast, stamp out their cursed vision or, unable to disgrace such immaculate human potential, take their own lives rather than see it wasted.

The world is as it should be. I fear it as I fear anything remotely connected to the supernatural- an all-consuming, instinctive terror, unresponsive to reason. Such is this brand of weakness, nature’s way of protecting those who could not bear it, warning of a place of power so great that to witness it could only destroy my fragile soul. The fear prevents me from pondering too deeply, for I worry that I may somehow break through and know things that I cannot know, see things that I cannot see. At times rigid, at times convulsing with a dread almost parasitic in its persistence, I remind myself of what they call insanity, tie lead weights of logic to my feet in the hope that they will hold me, press me to the earth as a reminder of my reality. Sanity is seeing only earth; insanity is knowing there is a choice.

I feel as though this thought has digested me, and I lie here, afraid of what there is to know and that I cannot bear the knowledge, and attempt to gather myself back into my original configuration. But the pieces no longer fit- there is a gap where some part has been stolen. My mind has been stretched, and will not retract to its original dimensions. Even knowing that it’s irresponsible, cowardly, weak- I wish for the ignorance of youth, flaunted without shame- I wish for innocence.

Description
Cosmic Consciousness. Is it possible? While certainly an intriguing concept, there is no scientific proof that it exists. Ah- there is much that science has yet to explain, so I will sacrifice logic to enthusiasm. I can't express how completely the idea enchants me, how attracted I am to the possibility of possessing it. Forget doubt, disregard reality, and imagine. Imagine reaching that peak of intellectual power, of possessing such devastating insight. The wisdom that must accompany such all-encompassing knowledge, the joy that one must feel at untangling the mysteries of our world. Of knowing truth, intimately. I can imagine nothing greater.

LATER...

I have come to a new conclusion on the subject of cosmic consciousness. I no longer wish to posses it. Perhaps this is defeat, deliberate blindness being far more inexcusable than innocent ignorance. I am a coward, but an honest one, honesty being the closest I can come to the immortal Truth. Such sight is granted only to those with the strength to bear it, with the capability to use their vision, enact change, accomplish any sort of random task, so alike to those committed by ordinary men, but at the same time too different to bear the title of superiority for being focused- a mechanical human will, desecrated with knowledge, clicking toward some ultimate goal with soulless precision. Weak men cannot posses such sight. They, aware of the fault within them, like a slash of impurity in a sheet of purest crystal, more degrading in contrast, stamp out their cursed vision or, unable to disgrace such immaculate human potential, take their own lives rather than see it wasted.

The world is as it should be. I fear it as I fear anything remotely connected to the supernatural- an all-consuming, instinctive terror, unresponsive to reason. Such is this brand of weakness, nature’s way of protecting those who could not bear it, warning of a place of power so great that to witness it could only destroy my fragile soul. The fear prevents me from pondering too deeply, for I worry that I may somehow break through and know things that I cannot know, see things that I cannot see. At times rigid, at times convulsing with a dread almost parasitic in its persistence, I remind myself of what they call insanity, tie lead weights of logic to my feet in the hope that they will hold me, press me to the earth as a reminder of my reality. Sanity is seeing only earth; insanity is knowing there is a choice.

I feel as though this thought has digested me, and I lie here, afraid of what there is to know and that I cannot bear the knowledge, and attempt to gather myself back into my original configuration. But the pieces no longer fit- there is a gap where some part has been stolen. My mind has been stretched, and will not retract to its original dimensions. Even knowing that it’s irresponsible, cowardly, weak- I wish for the ignorance of youth, flaunted without shame- I wish for innocence.