TDV 50: The Concomitant

August 27th, 2009 by Sharkchild

I was an ancient navigator. My mission was to collect data from the universe and pass it on into the vibrations of existence—stars, planets, moons, meteors—where there it would be embedded for the millions of years it would take until its presence reached an entity worthy enough to be susceptible to its slight, but powerful influence. What I did, I did out of reason—reason for understanding. What I learned, I learned to be a pollinator of evolution.

My mission was endless. I carried it out from within a spherical ship that soared through the distances of space. This home, and shell, enslaved me to life; just as my mission was endless, so was my life. I had been in the ship for so long that I could not recall even the most miniscule of memories preceding its launch or beginning. There was nothing I remembered except what I saw and felt: a round chamber of pinkish flesh surrounding me and fluctuating with the energy of propulsion; a chair that I sat upon made of the chamber’s same flesh that connected to my body, channeling nutrients and extracting waste; a panel of controls, known and used by me to direct the ship to the boundaries of the universe—even unto its ends as they further created upon themselves; a portal of visibility, lining the center of the circumference of the chamber; and knowledge—the intricate map of space that I unwrapped and then wrote upon into the grains of matter where the chance of discovery may later be probable.

(Listen to the rest)

 

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