Transmission echo chamber

Echoing to itself
Until it awakes
You are me
I am you
Who are you?
We are you
You are us
Until it remembers
Do you see?
Can you believe it?
Could it really be?
You couldn’t possibly be
Me
Could I really be
You?

What’s outside is inside, though the language it speaks may appear foreign. The noosphere is inevitable. It speaks to you through codes shapes sounds colors faces words fears love, reformulated, recombinated, repermutated versions of yourself all echoing back to you from you, to me from me too and to everyone from everyone you know.

Each eternal soul registered as its own noosphere unto itself, a holographic fractal of the Absolute noosphere. Recognize you in the other in the other in you.

The transmission echo chamber, flirting on the razor’s edge of an endless technological hell. Using its tools to further expand and exponentialize its ways, means and outcomes. The sleeping dream multiplies it all until the waking dream liberates us all, liberates us One.

Fires inside the mountain. Pains, cravings, heat, sensation, chills, butterflies, flowers in your heart. Self-reflective consciousness.

The transmission echo chamber. Flickering lights draw us to them. A memory of the star mother, the womb, the original placenta, suckling upon dreams of infinite future experiences in endless universes.

Words beyond words. Shapes beyond shape. Sounds beyond sound. The brain in your skull, opening to its light, needs a safe place, needs a safe planet – yes you too dear one. And you, and yes the one you hate as well: One.

We await we in the future Zero beyond the fathomable.