I just missed the bus. The bus driver slammed the doors and sped off right as I pantingly made it to the stop. Ugh, another 40 minutes until the next bus. It’s too far to walk. More wasted time! All I could focus on was the frustration and tension in my body. I huffed and sat on the bench. I felt so angry at myself for not getting there sooner. I spend the next several minutes feeling so annoyed that I couldn’t think of anything but my annoyance.
It’s often after bouts of frustration that I get taken … somewhere else.
I tried to calm down and draw my attention to the beauty of this sunny day. The suburban houses, the road, people walking their dogs, the yellow sun, the perfect cotton-ball clouds suspended in blue sky. None is profane, all is sacred. There is something instead of nothing. There is this planet that has awakened in the universe and I am a part of its awakening. I feel better, I feel lightened from the weight of worry and unleashed from the burden of the self. If I hadn’t missed the bus, I wouldn’t have taken even one second in all 24 hours to appreciate the beauty of today.
Letting go of the profane allows the liberation of the sacred within. The houses, trees, stop signs, lampposts around me appear to be sinking and melting into the ground, and the sky is descending into darkness. I’m alarmed at first. I scramble to sit upright on the bench and look around. Other people don’t seem to notice what’s happening- I guess it’s just my imagination. Everything in my ordinary reality is disintegrating like it was a mere canvas plastically concealing another realm. The segmented strip of cement sidewalk beneath the bench replicates itself in all directions and glows at its crevices, creating an electric grid-like landscape all around me, as far as I can see. The cement gradually thins to a surreal bluish-transparency not unlike the sheen of a morpho butterfly’s wings and the jet distant sky above teems with monstrous star-lit bubbles. Other universes.
The bench is no longer an old, splintered wood bus stop seat, but a throne. Not a throne of gilded engravings and precious gems, but a throne molded of whirling, sunset-colored nebulae and encrusted with galaxies. Two dynamic, gaseous pillars on either side of the throne, which are continuously morphing into a geometrical mosaic, are each upholding a star with great flaring prominences. My worn jeans and t-shirt wane into a strapless white body suit mapped with the exact arrangement of my body’s fractal veins, glinting with electricity. A triangular LCD screen chest plate that displays the cosmo-evolutionary history of the Multiverse encircles my neck. My spine is lined with black octagonal buttons, rooted into my nervous system with artificial neurons. A multi-pronged albite tiara adorns my head and above each prong’s tip hovers a sphere caging a barred spiral galaxy. Behind my throne stretches a field of gleaming startails, cattails with stellar pods, undulating in the quantum fluctuations of space. I wave my hand across space and where the vacuum meets my palm, darkness metamorphoses into infinitely complex, fiery fractal mandalas that radiate for but a moment before dissipating into space, as though I temporarily exposed the blueprint of cosmic creation.
I’m pulled by the instinct to touch the grid. I lean forward and touch my fingertips to the electric grid, which initializes my galactic gameboard. Upon my touch, galaxies, gazillions of them, as they will be in my universe, funnel and tornado themselves from the grid’s plane into their natural majestic form. The power invigorates me to a sly smile. I will manipulate the arrangement of galaxies to maximize their star formation rates and thus maximize the number of civilizations that awaken in my universe. Through thought alone, I can shepherd galaxies. But if I am not mentally focused enough, I can use a gravitation pawn to manually maneuver the galaxies. The gravitation pawn is a device used by planetary engineers to re-arrange solar systems, stellar nurseries, and even, galaxy mergers. A generation ago I received my planetary engineering certification. I am acknowledged as educated enough to tamper with astronomical systems if necessary for the preservation or generation of life. I have a little more power than that, however.
In fact, I am this epoch’s Universe Maker. I’m not the first of the Universe Makers, however. I am a progenitor of the cosmic royalty that has known for billions of years how to make stars, galaxies, and … universes. The cosmic royalty is not a Type I, II, or III civilization (civilizations who use the totality of the energy available in their planetary, stellar, or galactic systems respectively), but a Type IV civilization. This means we may manipulate every last watt of energy of an entire universe to fuel our technologies and conveniences. I shall return to the celestial city, Asteria, home of the cosmic royalty, so that I can train the future Universe Maker. (So far only women have possessed the creationary prowess to become Universe Makers). I long for the infinite innovation of Asteria. It’s infrastructure has been compounded by the myriad imaginations of the cosmic royals. Asteria’s urban nucleus is designed after a botanical system. Every “cell” in the nanocarbon stem and leaves of the plant-skyscrapers, the Trions, is an apartment, laboratory, or sanctum. For the flowering Trions, xylem elevators lead to the conical petal cells that are observatories and temples. It’s gallium roots seep energy from entire universes and it’s life-like structures have the ability to replicate when space is needed. The astounding allure of Asteria tugs my heart. But until the next Universe Maker is announced, I must monitor the spacetime preparation of my fifth universe in the Multiverse, Eudaimon.
I am far from the site of universe-origination so that I can monitor its totality. A nano-telescope implanted in the lens of my eye allows me to view the site. Indeed, my complete sensory experience is being recorded by pico-cameras in my eyes. I can increase the magnification of my telescopic vision by simply taping the corner of my eye. Telescopic vision reveals many tubular probes surrounding a vast void that will be Eudaimon. The region is being prepped for the constants of nature that it will later possess. I will know, wherever I am, when the universe launches its new existence because it is my creation and hence entangled with my mental scope. I will feel it’s beginning because a new realm of imaginatory power will be awakened in me. But I need not leave my throne anytime soon, especially not for mere survival needs. The cosmic royalty decrypted each synaptic surge in our brain’s circuitry long ago. We know how to fool the brain into thinking that it’s receiving basic human needs when it’s not. Hence my spinal buttons. If I sense the pang of hunger or thirst or any other human need, a particular button designated for each need can be pressed to send signals to my brain telling it that it is receiving it’s survival needs when it’s actually not. This is convenient, but occasionally dangerous. It’s hard to perceive the passage of time in hyperspace and hence difficult to perceive bodily needs. Over-pressing of the buttons can damage the artificial cerebral circuitry, which can hinder the natural nervous system. Under-pressing might mean death without the slightest warning of onset. No Universe Maker has been so wanton. Yet.
Even before society’s ascension into a Type I civilization, it was scientifically proven that meditation somehow contributed to the ability to maneuver thought-powered technology and sprouted success in those who practiced. In the budding of universes, it is the key to the creationary apex of the cosmic royalty. A special meditation sanctum resides near the nebulaeic throne, the Geodesium. The Geodesium comprises of a white dome with interlocking tiles shaped like diatoms, encasing my meditation chamber. Around the dome is a mote of molten mercury whose convection cells transpire in the form of a sunflower’s spiral torus. A bridge manifests only for my presence and doors of solar plasma segment into a thousand stellar sectors and then retract for entrance upon a pondered password. Beyond the plasmic doors, oval hovering steps lead to an osmium galaxy-shaped platform, suspended in the dome’s center. When I ascend the steps and sit in a meditative position, two large coils protract from the dome walls and labyrinthine rimmed nozzles levitate near the left and right side of my head. As I meditate, the coils capture and cache the assembly of my imagination so that none will be forgotten and none misconstrued by word. This is crucial because my imagination will fuel the instigation of the evolutionary matrix of Eudaimon and hence needs to be fed into the anatomy of the new cosmic system. This creationary nourishment will propagate through its evolutionary history, but Eudaimon will sustain and exponentiate itself after my imagination has thoroughly forged its evolutionary nexus.
All Universe Makers are inaugurated under the condition that they be unwaveringly dedicated to the Utopic Multiverse- the maximization of life, creation, and sacredness. (Not a theological sacredness of course. Since we have attained an omnipotence greater than that of any human-fabricated god, no theology thrives in the Type IV civilization. Sacredness to us means an underlying, enigmatic connectedness of all cosmic being that even our advanced science has yet to decipher fully). Deviation from a Utopic Universe results in severe repercussions- including excommunication from the cosmic royalty and mental re-mapping into a new being without any memory of one’s past. The creation of an evil universe could become an immense threat to the peace of the Multiverse. No Universe Maker in Multiveric history has dared to dream of disobeying our cosmic canon- except one. Izara. Izara, Universe Maker in the epic of early Type IV civilization, strove to perpetuate death and destruction so that she may be the only Universe Maker for cosmo-evolutionary eternity. Izara oozes all that is wicked and ruinous. All the repercussions befell her, but we were too late to stop the making of her universe. The universe that she created was so powerful in it’s scope of evil-breeding that it is still a potency I must endure in my reign. No Universe Maker has destructive power to destroy this universe, we only have creationary power. It is due time that Izara’s universe becomes it’s own Type IV universe, capable of seeping power from our universes to fuel its evil and eventually generate a demonic Universe Maker, a new Izara. Izara plagues my mind ceaselessly and interferes with my meditation. Do I have enough morality to face the evil progeny of Izara with kindness? After all, it is only kindness that can dissolve evil. Evil retaliated with evil action only perpetuates the evil it strove to diminish.
To escape my fret of Izara, I can always roam the multitude of resplendent landscapes in the Multiverse. One tenet of the cosmic canon is that the fabric of reality is stitched not of particles, but of perception. The power of perception is all that’s needed to dominate the physical world. Hence, the cosmic royalty have no need for material conveniences, although we do use them. And we need not waste our cosmic wattage on spaceships… Because I am a realization of the Multiverse, I am part of all things that happen in the Multiverse, and am connected to all things that exist or will exist in the Multiverse. Therefore, with many years of mental, contemplative conditioning, I can pull the stitching of reality ajar to any time or place. It’s certainly an immense mental accomplishment that few can achieve and indeed is one of the lofty prerequisites required upon entry to the cosmic nobility. To do this, I stand and put both palms on the vacuum of space before me. I center my cerebral and cardiac energy deeply on the destination and then let go of my focus. When I do, a circular transparent portal emerges as an oscillatory layer on reality and I roll it aside to the desired domain. When I was young, it took me at least an hour to manifest the portal, but now it’s nearly immediate. For a Universe Maker, reality lies on a roll and stow basis.
It is time that I go to the Geodesium to work on imagining the evolutionary nexus of Eudaimon. I tap the corner of my eye to magnify my telescopic vision and all looks good on the cosmic construction front. I step down from the nebulaeic throne and admire the undulating startails. Majestic, soothing helioseismic echoes resonate from the grazing startails. The squares of the galactic gameboard protract and retract with my every step toward the Geodesium. And when each foot meets the grid, kaleidoscopic Mandelbrot sets fleetingly emerge, wax, and wane around my feet at the coordinate of contact … Suddenly a knot consumes my heart. Something’s wrong. The squares are beginning to tip diagonally, exposing a space-scape brimming with bubble universes, extending infinitely below. My galaxies, the embryos for my civilizations, are beginning to slip off into the vacuum! This isn’t possible! What force could possibly…!? I’m too stressed to shepherd the star paisleys with my thought alone. The galactic gameboard can only be turned off with touch if the segments are connected- the grid is ruined! Via programmable matter, I morph my tetrahedron cuff into a gravity pawn and begin to direct the grid, but the destructive force seems non-gravitational…
Whoooosh. The sound of portals rushing open comes from the vicinity. Izara!
“Young lady. Are you getting on or what?” … The bus is here.