The maybe alive cats

The world was silent except for two voices. One was mine and the other one was mine too. But the world is never silent, is it? It is in fact too loud and clamorous all the time. Could this too be a myth and another random half-assed but fully believed fact? It does seem so at dawn when the birds are having their last dreams for the night and I have more to say and when I am frantically and eagerly trying to tell God how much I love everything.

The silent hour has more to say than possibly any other hour of the day. It is truly a miracle how one certain shade of blue on the sky of the limits of our eyes can be of such a wonderful event to our hearts, a little revolution every twenty four hours, limited time offer, catch it in the 20 minutes of it’s existence or keep on dying on the inside with not a speck of golden brown relief in the blinding red canvas of your life. Time is amazing. I can never not think of that one Sci-Fi film, Lucy, in which they say that time is the only dimension and we exist in a tiny portion of it (obviously) and that if time ran a bit faster (enough to cover our life span in a nanosecond or even more of a negligible period), we won’t even exist.

That makes me think of how if some kind of a glitch happens in the universe right after I post this and time jumps 50 years ahead (give or take) and I cease to physically exist (above ground ,at least), what will become of this post? I guess that depends on how long WordPress survives or if someone copies it down to some other website or some magazine or a piece of paper or a memory or anything that holds art and literature and other attempts at knowledge, it would survive as long as they do even after I’m dead and the microbes have had many many feasts in my head. Like classic literature and the mural paintings, the scratched words on a tree and the permanent footprints on a cement side walk.

The duality paradox lives in my head rent free. I can’t help but think of everything in those terms on some level. Is the true nature of light particle or is it energy? Many people never presented these arguments before Einstein did because the dual nature of light was nothing peculiar to them. They must have always had believed in the soul of the universe (yep its a reference to the alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. read it.). It’s not a new concept. I bet humans knew from the beginning that we are body and soul not body or soul. (As long as we are alive, at least). It’s ridiculous how scientists got so confused over it and carried out so many diffraction and interference experiments and not to mention, put an imaginary cat in an imaginary box for it. Science is astonishing.

Do we exist outside of our time or not? Would the particle nature of light have a shorter life span than the wave nature? Do photons ever die? Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, first rule of thermodynamics, something of the thing lives on. Maybe, time has nothing on us.

One thing that really hit me while watching “Interstellar” was when Brand says that she still loves Edmund even though he is on a different planet so very far away from where they were that travelling there alone could make them lose hundreds of years on Earth and then she goes you know what “love is the only truly perfect dimension” or something along the lines. It made sense because space and time are painfully limited but things manage to exist and even thrive beyond the four obvious dimensions. There must be something that anchors them to existence; that convinces the future of its right to being. I hope that something that keeps me alive is something beautiful.

Maybe, just maybe, love is the greater, more reliable dimension. More valuable than time. It must be more intricate, more widespread but less confusing and less delicate than time. I sometimes think that time had to take the L just because it’s so confusing. (We did lose our minds watching ‘Dark’).
So Schrodinger’s cat was more alive than it was dead. Shakespeare and Sappho are alive. My great-grandmother who I never met but heard about in so many of my mother’s stories is alive. Dante and Dali are alive. We’re all alive and that was one of the many things that I was and am grateful for.

The birds that were dreaming their last dreams for the night woke up and I had to hand over the sacred duty of marvelling at the universe to them as I went downstairs to have some tea.

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