Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Garden of Nonsense by Ben Goertzel
an image of myself, first two dimensional
then nine dimensional,
standing naked amidst wild vines and grasses,
orchids of all types shining out passion colors
The plants are speaking to me in various languages,
none of which I fully understand –
I get a few words here and there –
the feelings are more evident
They are telling me that I have created them
and they love me
They are telling me that I am totally insane
They are telling me that I used to be God –
no, the universe –
and for some reason I occluded my mind,
blotted out part of my divine vision,
They are telling me I'm only part of myself,
that this garden of nonsense I'm tending
is one garden among billions
That they, the flowers of my meaningless hopes,
dreams and delusions,
are unique species,
but other similarly unique species exist
in other similarly unique gardens
within the boundaries of what used to be my perfect
godly universe soul
"Tend your nonsense garden!"
they tell me
"Tend it carefully and truly
Infuse it with your mind and body lust,
your surreal inventiveness,
your trees of knowledge and despair.
Ensure that we,
the flowers of your bleeding,
tears and laughter,
display a strange beauty that sings
at the resonant frequency
of your innermost core.
Then one day your love will come.
She'll step into your garden,
looking surprising or familiar,
gorgeous in unexpected ways,
and she'll stare at your flowers
vines and grasses with awe
She'll reach out her hand
and extend to you flowers,
a bouquet grown in her own garden
of exquisite nonsense,
not dead flowers but plants complete
with roots,
for you to plant in the soil of your mind,
to add new shapes to your dictionary
of colors, lusts and beauties,
to crosspollinate with your lifetime of
screams and inventions,
creating new blooms that are yours and hers
and hers and yours."
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