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Tat Tvam Asi
(Thou art that.)

I writhe suspended suspecting waiting wondering worrying toward the singularity.
A brick road to infinity stretches out, receding to a point.
Flapping pages, pictures, two dimensional, no… wait… they’re moving. Flat pictures with a multidimensional world inside. Creatures, objects come and go as if from a picture frame portal.
I’m hovering above this brick pathway moving toward a vanishing point but the point isn’t vanishing, it just recedes… I feel like I’m moving incredibly fast yet it looks like I’m standing still. I remember seeing images of the moon from a craft hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour and it looked like a still image.

Weird fishes… that song comes into my head. I get eaten by the worms and weird fishes…
Am I dead?
Am I alive?
Am I dreaming?

At first I felt weightless, now I feel a gravity, an increasing gravity, pulling me toward this receding point…. this brick road is like a pyramid stretching upward and the apex is a singularity… The Singularity.

The Singularity

It rushes into my head, a password, a key, it opens a bank of knowledge, an entire experiential memory floods my head and at once I am myself and more. I am the man floating toward the singularity and suddenly I’m a man floating through space toward the apex of The Singularity.

---

I’m in a classroom. Mid-twentieth-century American urban industrial grit. The Singularity is written on a board in chalk. This strange teacher with unbrushed hair and wide eyes is tapping his chalk against the board… trying to find words…. carefully choosing what he’s about to say to the incredulous students….

“… The Singularity is when all space and time converge into one point… one singular point. Everything you know, every atom, every particle, every bit of energy is all heading to this one point.”
“Good, at least something will get to the point…” Laughter… the teacher grins.

I’m too interested to chuckle. I always appreciate a good turn of phrase, but this singularity thing… has me singularly snapped in.
But I just realized something… I can’t chuckle.
I can’t smile.
I can’t see.
I can’t hear….
Yet I’m doing all these things. I’m just doing them without a body.
How does one see without eyes? Hear without ears? Feel without skin…
I’m not sitting in this classroom. I’m not in this classroom. I am this classroom.
This teacher, these students, these desks, the chalk dust… I am all of it.

I am all of it.
I am all of it.
I am all of it.

All is everything.
Everything is singular.

These words echo through me… through me… through me?
What is me?
I’m incorporeal. Everything is going through me.

.white,dust,cough,choke,dry,scratch.aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh
…
That was intense. I was the chalk…
…
fire,lightning,heat,radiate,smooth,glass,shine,bright
…
Lightbulb
…
stretching,falling,crashing,splashing….
…
water droplet on the window…

I am everything.
I can be.
What is everything? How can I be everything if everything hasn’t become?

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I wake up with a gasp.
I feel like this every morning. Worse on Mondays.
Mondays. Somebody’s got a case of the Mondays — I remember the line from a funny movie…
Mondays suck.
Literally.
My soul.

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Dark room… beeping… antiseptic smells, breathing, beeping, beeping, faint light shining on a popcorn drop ceiling…
Mommy, this isn’t home, is it?
But nobody’s there. Wait — somebody was always there. How long have I been here?
I have no words.

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A small boy. Dirty face, messy hair, eyes tired and red. He was crying.
That face.
Sometimes little kids cry and it’s annoying. It’s like, what piddly crap is this brat whining on and on about?
But this kid. It’s heartbreaking. I’ve never seen a small child so anguished. If I look at him too long… I can’t. I just can’t.

A man walks in and looks at a little boy in a hospital bed. Rails up.
The man doubles over sobbing.
The boy stares. His face a Rorschach of fear, sadness, terror… expectancy. Like he expects something. Blue eyes piercing the darkness expecting something.
WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? What do you want from me? What… do… you… ?
He stops. At first he can’t speak through the convulsive, tearful tremors. But something about those blue eyes. He doesn’t feel like crying anymore.
The man pulls a small stool next to the bed. It wasn’t there before, the stool. At least he didn’t notice it.
He pulls it over. Puts his head on the boy’s chest and sleeps.

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“Love says ‘I am everything.’ Wisdom says ‘I am nothing.’ Between the two, my life flows.”
— Nisargadatta Maharaj