A Rumination On Shadows and Mirrors

Lovecraft, Mac Tonnies and Hungry Ghosts

The Tentacles of  Our Shadows?
The ecumenical totem of freedom has always been poised against material necessity, whether we are hunter gatherers of sustenance from the plains or in search of the next gasoline station. A species pulled like taffy between dreams and broken toe nails, and yet, we navigate the margins between the lines of our own personal religion of personality, wedged into a role we have little or no say as to how it was written as well as how it plays out. An improvisational brand of contingent certainties makes for polite conversation or catastrophe. All of which are materialized by the context of whose script  suits best our psychological weaknesses in what is apparently a random form of denying any bewilderment is taking place at the nature of defining exactly what environment we happen to occupy as experienced by billions of habitations bored through our respective aggregate sum of pinhole lenses, each of which represents one individuation of a aggregate relationship much larger than any one point of observation. This occurs perhaps as we float in a membrane of the recombination of associative instincts, propelled by dreams, encrusted with the totemic icons of meanings that are a tunnel leading toward a imperceptible darkness. While our biological senses remain locked on the targets that editorially prevent the view leading forward from determining where all this leads.

The Interception of Dreams
The assumption is we are awake in sentience, but the evidence is largely the propaganda of necessity provided by the hunter gatherers of sustenance. The rational as positivist post editorial balm. Yet, the reader may ask, what am I pointing toward, as I view the cartography I walk atop as a sort of learned amnesiac?
Is the acknowledgement of uncertainty, a path to freedom or is any poise of certainty, a pragmatic sort of inbred stop gap tool of organizing mass consensus or shall we say, a group mind? Bewilderment as a natural state of affairs seems to be always peculating behind self hypnosis, or should I say, that this ordering of our hierarchies is the bed that inference and suggestion lay upon? Oddly, there appears to be no accident in this were it a design, and so what is it we are swimming upstream against?

"A bone-deep existential unease sets in. Am I a cosmos unto myself, chasing my own synapses (which may or may not be an accurate representation of whatever is actually doing the thinking)? Or, like quanta at the hands of particle physicists, am I fundamentally entangled in something more real?"
-Mac Tonnies

Either \or as a binary contradiction in logic be a dead end formulation of the question as we may be enmeshed between two ends of a stick, or again, the metaphor of a tunnel comes to mind, while Plato preferred a cave. Regardless of the metaphor there is a match set of darkness whether it is the observation of strange anomalies that fits as a puzzle piece perfectly into the dark and overwhelming blind spot we own by default, when it comes to what we may represent. All of the above is furiously bypassed when it comes to the aforementioned bewilderment, uncertainty and the pavement of positivist icons we pave this over with for our own uneasy, yet self comforting peace of mind.

More to the point, if individually the organisation of energy is the expression of tones, coloration's of the associations we are seemingly possessed by do not evaporate into the ether upon the death of our host, what then, is being created, out of sight and mind? That is to say, all of this equally unceasing and recombinative points of comparative relationships of "consciousness" as energy signatures weaving, quilting a holographic and cellular intelligence may represent a new form of life that is not wrought by the sun directly, but is in the shadows, in an impenetrable realm that surfaces with it's tentacles from time to time. I sense this more than understand this. One way to imagine this relationship is to imagine a sphere that represents the reversed mirror imagine of a hollow earth in the that center or axis is composed of semi-solids ( which we occupy) that is surrounded by a field of delimited potential that is the product of billions of points of reference that have been created as a storage library that has become aware of itself in a sort of infantile manner. One would be tempted to use loaded terms like Heaven but those are archaic and drastically reductionist conceptions from my point of view. Of course who or what is the ghost is contingent upon where one is located as Ibn Al Arabi suggested we are in a matrix where the invisible becomes material and the material is becoming invisible.

The New Lords of A Post Human Planet
Are all of these pinhole lenses interconnected into a matrixed organisation of cellular intelligence that may appear to be sentient but is not. That this large Creatura composed of hundred of billions of experiential data points of reference as a probe leaning toward our pole is also self organizing and if so, undoubtedly is parasitic to our experience as well as intentionally manipulative as only as far as it assumes results correspondent to determining it's own nature by the comparison of materialism forms we also manipulate.
Take your pick, flying saucers, the expressions of the dead, the cryptic creatures that defy identification, the ghost ships of the sea and sky..Are all of these staged for the sake of provocation to draw a response as much as our own material senses probe to determine relational aspects of what constitutes ourselves, by both limit and experimentation? Perhaps the means is our own primal fear that is the trigger that feeds a certain hunger akin to becoming, which is only a another word for evolution.
Perhaps Mac Tonnies metaphor of Ray Bradbury's Martian specters rooted in the soils of our psyche was but a taste of what may become the shadow inheritor of a seemingly silent planet, devoid of any human voice, in terms of nature always being the invention of adaptation to the transformation of a planetary environment.

The dark landscape of Cthulhu with subterranean bridges to the surface of our own topography only has the precepts of our own cognition to manipulate as much as we do as tool makers to explore space, not by construction but by deconstruction to determine the differentials of relations between It and Us.
Yet we are certainly are one set of parents, among several to what lurks unseen. Similar and yer dissimilar, as parasitic to the psyche as we are to the body. They perhaps eat as they are eaten, digested through  a razor's edge. Probes of a dreamscape in search of a coherent identity just as we occupy the opposing surface of this sphere, where the inside is outside and the outside is internalized...If the environmental deterioration of our atmosphere continues unabated, perhaps in terms of spectral existence, as above, so below may apply and as a consequence, Mac Tonnies vision of a post catastrophic landscape on Mars may be more prophetic than we can surmise at the moment, albeit closer to home.