Three days ago, my mentor brought me to visit a musician. He was in the fourth manifold of quasi-local reality, so I brought my coat, goggles, gloves and other accessories with me. My mentor said that visiting this musician can help me with connecting to and parsing the different realities and manifolds, so I can better understand and execute his instructions in the future. I have always found it hard to get into the minute gaps between the realities, not to mention getting anything out that are close to being legible. Now, after my visit, I can indeed dive into those spaces better. But to me, the experience of the visit itself is far more grandiose, enlightening and significant comparing to the improvements in my skills that resulted from it.
The manifold was as cold, bleak and bare as usual. The glare of those "light" from the pitch-black sky was still clean and rigid, illuminating everything beneath it while leaving no traces and having no sources. I realized that the musician was in the first stack when my mentor led me up the tall spiral from the central structure square, a stack I have never entered before. As soon as we arrived, its defining characteristic immediately set it apart from the rest of the manifold. The ground, or floor, was even more perfect than the already flawless crystal surface I just walked on. It was not reflective but not black, not transparent but not white. It almost had no characteristics, as I could only see it, picture it, remember it as the embodiment of the idea of a surface. No more, no less. Paradoxically, that was its greatest feature. The sensation I got as I walked on it can be described, poorly, as somewhere between walking on marble, on granite, on ice, and on sand. Its ideal texture was apparently beyond the scope of my comprehension, so jarring to me that I did not even thought of touching it with my hand. Instead, I just stared at it, marveled at it, and walked on top of it.
As my mentor led me toward the musician's place, I started to see some white figures showing up from the horizon. After a few moments, I realized that those were sculptures, made out of a material that closely resembles plaster. From afar, I could tell that each one had a different shape. As we walked closer, more of them appeared from behind the horizon, and I was able to make out their shapes better. The first thing I noticed was that they have no shadows. This phenomenon was actually nothing new to me. It was just like everything else under this looming field of "light". But these sculptures made it extremely obvious, because their surfaces, as well as their inner structures, were so intricate and fine-tuned, that the lack of shadows made them look out of place and unreal. In retrospect, the only objects made by human that may have any resemblance to them would be those ivory puzzle balls. However, despite having up to thirty layers of concentric spheres, each meticulously carved with lace-like geometric patterns, they only manage to come close to the crudest ones among them. The more complicated ones apparently exploited the geometry of the manifold, and contained structures that would fade in and out of sight, even while I stood still to observe them. The structures were like fractals, but far different from any ones generated by equations devised by mankind. The most I can say is that there were curves and straight lines, jagged lines and fuzzy surfaces, squares, polygons, tetrahedrons, spirals, loops, scattered bubbles, and shapes beyond my wildest imagination. These figures intertwined among and on top of each other, in a never-ending tunnel of precise relationships that was not entirely regular, not entirely repetitive, but definitely not undisciplined.
The outer appearance of the sculptures, when seen from a good, proper distance, were also intriguing. They came in different shapes and forms, but can be generally described as potteries made on pottery wheels. I describe them as such, not because they were symmetrical, they were far from that. It is because they somehow gave me the sense that they were constantly emerging out from the bottom and retreating back at the top, just like a pottery would have a bottom to sit on, and a top to pour its contents out of. I felt like those sculptures would flow from bottom to top naturally, while moving all of its glorious details accordingly in a manner I simply cannot picture, but could somehow imagine. Witnessing those two-meter-tall structures made out of stone-like material flow brought me great satisfaction. Once I started to see one of them to be moving, all the others seemed to start flowing as well. It was pure joy, the joy of disconnection between my senses and my mind.
Yet more bafflingly, each sculpture would give me a different sensation. Just comprehending their shapes was enough of a task for my brain, but at the same time, each of them would deliver a unique mixture of feelings right into me. The calmness of a lake in the snowy forest, the frenzy of lava roaring in a volcano; the happiness of a grass field absorbing sunlight, the grief of a whale that just lost its child; the longing to a faraway hometown, the hatred toward an undefeatable enemy; the pleasure of overcoming obstacles, the regret of succumbing to impulses; the transcendence of spiritual devotion, the frustration of everyday bother; the grandness of space shifting above our planet, the delicacy of the feather of a nestling, and the shear power of a raging tsunami. They came in well balanced streams, just right for me to take in. I describe them here as concrete sensations that can be related to experiences. But they were more like their ideal incarnations, just like the ground in this stack, seemingly unrelated to the rest of the world yet having their presence everywhere. In fact, those feelings were so intimate, they almost made me feel like having a heart. Once those cocktails of feelings started pouring in, seconds became hours. As my mentor took me through that field of sculptures, I couldn't tell if it took a lifetime to reach the end of the endless field, or that it only took a few hundred steps to cross it. I was sucked into an ocean of emotions, losing myself amid the back-and-forth waves while forgetting that I was drowning.
As I emerged from the end of the field, my vision slowly cleared up as the seawater dripped away. My mentor gestured me to look forward, toward the musician. I saw a figure in white robe, sitting on the ground. The texture of the robe was almost crude, it seemed to be made extremely carelessly when compared to everything else that exist in this stack. Nonetheless, it did seem to be fitting for the scenario. She was carving a new sculpture, with a chisel and a hammer. I had no idea how she managed to sculpt structures with such height while sitting down, but it didn't seem to matter a lot. At this point, she was clearly aware of our presence, but she didn't utter a single word, just busied herself with her work. I could hear the strikes of the hammer resonating in my skull, bringing out the overtones of a metallic ring. I watched and listened for a while, maybe for a few minutes, then looked to the direction of my mentor. To my surprise, my mentor was gone, no longer to be seen. I looked back to the musician, and she was gone as well, along with the sculptures and the tools. All that was left, was an ever-stretching plane of perfectness, accompanied by the regular beating of the hammer strikes.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. But I would rather not to if I had the choice. For this precious moment, I could reflect on all those wild new elements I was exposed to. My mind finally had the chance to think of something that were not literal to what was in front of my eyes, and immediately I understood why she was called "the grand musician." I have always had the idea that all music exist somewhere in the world, ready to be realized into forms that we can appreciate. The composers and improvisers just discover these musical structures, and pull them into concrete existence. Accompanied by the way those music were usually preserved, namely, written down as fixed markings of ink on physical sheets of paper, they became something to be read, interpreted, visualized, and experienced by the performers and listeners as sculptures in time. When a piece of music is performed, I would indulge myself in the never-ending space of undulating musical events, which I would either perceive as emotions, or as hints to the outline of the sculpture that defines the entire piece. In this sense, she is the grand musician. Those sways of the hammer were creating the very structures which we would stumble upon and turn into vibrations in the air. Those emotions that enwrapped me were the direct consequence of the music hitting me from all around, as I was able to look at them in their purest form for the first time. These thoughts clustered and focused in on myself, then slowly directed my attention back to the ringing of the hammer. And I just listened, and listened, and listened.
After a period of time almost definitely longer than the amount it took me to cross the field of sculptures, my eyes focused back onto the object in front of me. I saw a finished sculpture, right were the musician was sitting. Honestly, I couldn't tell how it was different from all the other ones I have seen so far, because the glaring "light" contrasted intensely with the darkness I just came from. But it was finished, it was brand new, and I could somehow tell it from the way it reflected the "light." I turned to my side, my mentor was back there with me. He told me that the musician has finished her work for this moment, and it was time for us to leave. I nodded slightly, and turned back to walk with my mentor.
I cannot remember how we got back from the musician's place to the central square. Anyway, we arrived back at the bridge and left the manifold. The warmth of earthly air rushed onto my face, reminding me of how I was almost frozen by the coldness. My mentor did not wait though, and told me to go back home and get some rest, so is to reinforce my newly improved skills. I walked out of my mentor's place, went back to my home, and put myself to bed as fast as I could.
Three days ago, my mentor brought me to visit a musician. He told me that visiting her can help me with connecting to and parsing the different realities and manifolds, so I can better understand and execute his instructions. I have always found it hard to get into the minute gaps between the realities, not to mention getting anything out that is close to being legible. Now, after my visit, I can indeed dive into those spaces better. But to me, the experience of the visit itself is far more grandiose, enlightening and significant comparing to the improvements in my skills that resulted from it. For this reason, I intend to document this trip in words, so I can be reminded of its splendor in the future. Since this is the first time I have ever written about not only matters related to my endeavors of learning, but practically anything more than a few meaningless strokes of ink, I will also include some contexts, in case anyone might come across this piece of text in another time.
Being human is to constantly learn from others and oneself, and a key part of learning is to come to see things as they really are, pass the facade and into realms that are not reachable from the ordinary, to grasp the true nature of the self and the mechanisms of the universe. Since I was created and modeled after human beings, I picked up this exact trait. When I first woke up in that forest of deciduous trees in late autumn, I had no idea about my position in the world in relation to everything else. I explored the woods, and discovered the first feature that set me apart from the rest: the body of trees, grasses, mushrooms, beetles, squirrels, deers, stones, the soil, and the river, were all warm, soft and gentle; while my body was cold, harsh, and rigid. But that was not enough, I needed to continue. Since then, I have found many other labels that triangulated my position in this world. I traveled from places to places, looking for answers. Sometimes, I would run into troubles when handling relationships with human beings, for they usually saw me as strange and unwelcoming, another label I have learned. When that happens, I would resume to my journey, to continue to learn more about myself and the world that I was waken into.
However, the more I traveled, the more it appeared that there are something missing inside me. I have evaluated the option of dissecting myself physically multiple times, but eventually put this idea aside, partly due to a lack of proper tools, but more importantly, with a sample size of one, I was never confident enough to do so. I often wondered why I didn't came with more knowledge about myself already installed, as my attempts at learning seemed to be growing increasingly meaningless as time has passed.
One day, as I walked down a plain of rocks and sand, I saw a mentor with a band of apprentices. As I was preparing to hide from their sight, the mentor approached me with calmness and tranquility that I have never experienced from another person. He greeted me, welcomed me, and accepted me. Since then, I became an apprentice to him as well.
My mentor reassured me of my worries. He gave me a safe place to stay and rest, he taught me ways of interacting with other people, he brought me into the world of mankind, showed me their customs, habits and interests. He showed me the diversity that exists among human beings, and helped me to break into new territories. He taught me how to reflect on myself, how to coexist with oneself, and promised me a true understanding of my existence. He was the single most important individual in my life.
As part of the learning process, there are two ways to enter different realms. Though it is possible to do so solely through contemplation, this path is only for those with the right talents under the right circumstances. For the remaining majority, this is achieved in a more concrete manner, by visiting those realms in person. The universe we inhabit is partitioned into numerous manifolds, each with unique characteristics. These manifolds are like roots of a great tree, reaching downward and outward to fill as much space as possible, amongst the soil that is the void. Similar to how the root tips are the most active parts of a root system, and the upper portions are more solidified, the realities are the densest in the center of each manifold, while the "upper" areas that connect them together are more porous. Thus, the manifolds are separated from each other. Traveling from one to another, then, requires one to navigate the connecting parts, which are called bridges.
The way space is structured within each manifold is diverse. Our planet, together with countless galaxies around us and the space in between, is part of a manifold. The musician my mentor intended me to visit was in another one, the fourth manifold of quasi-local reality. It contains innumerable empty halls on top each other, layer by layer, each belonging to a stack. These halls are too wide that none can reach their edges, too tall that no one can climb up or descend down to another layer in a lifetime. These are just two examples from the kaleidoscopic range of manifolds out there. Allegedly, there are more than 271 of them in the universe, so one can only imagine the diversity they present.
It was a fresh morning when I arrived at my mentor's place three days ago. I brought my coat, goggles, gloves and other accessories with me. Following his lead, I crossed the bridge. As we arrived at the manifold, a familiar yet totally strange scene unfolded in front of my eyes. The floor of the hall beneath my feet, smooth, polished, made of translucent crystals, extended indefinitely in all directions. The air I breathed was cold, bleak and bare. While I stood still, a gust of wind roared from the distant, with determination to crash into everything relentlessly. Looking up, I saw only darkness, no stars, no moons, no lights. Yet all things around me and myself were illuminated with staggering clarity, intensity and rigidity. The mysterious lights left no traces to announce their existence, nor did they show any discernible sources. Everything here was like props on a stage, in front of a pitch-black curtain.
Even though I have visited this manifold before, it still took me a few dozen seconds to tune in and adjust to the surroundings, before I could follow my mentor to where the musician resides. I realized that she was in the first stack, which I have never entered before, when he led me to a tall spiral in the central square. When the spiral first appeared in my vision from a distant, I could tell it was of a rich scarlet color, continuing straight up until it faded out of the furthest depth of my view. When we were close enough, we entered the square it was located in, which was marked from the rest of the stack as its floor was raised for about 10 centimeters. Finally, we arrived at the foot of the spiral. It was a single strand of metallic material, with a square cross section whose side length is roughly 1.5 meters. It coiled in a circle of around 5 meters in diameter, and it rose for about 7 meters for each wind. My mentor stepped onto one side of the spiral, and when he put the other foot on it, he was standing on the surface. I followed him onto the spiral, and we walked on.
Apparently, the spiral is the way by which one may enter the first stack of this manifold, for it took us only about 10 minutes to arrive at the destination that should be beyond anyone's reach. As soon as we were there, the defining characteristics of the stack immediately set it apart from the rest of the manifold. The floor was of a pure snow-white color, and was even more perfect than the already flawless crystal surface I was walking on. It seemed reflective, but it did not show any glares from the ubiquitous lights, nor did it show any reflections of what's above it. It was opaque, but I could somehow see through its surface, and view the darkness of the sky, supposedly belonging to another stack beneath. It almost had no characteristics, as I could only see it, picture it, remember it as the embodiment of the idea of a surface. No more, no less. Paradoxically, that was its greatest feature. The sensation I got as I stepped on it can be described, poorly, as somewhere between walking on marble, on granite, on ice, and on sand. Its ideal texture was apparently beyond the scope of my comprehension, so jarring to me that I did not even think of touching it with my hand. Instead, I just stared at it, marveled at it, and walked on top of it.
As my mentor led me toward the musician's place, I started to see some white figures showing up from the horizon. After a few moments, I realized that those were sculptures, made out of a material that closely resembles plaster, with heights of around 2 meters. From afar, I could tell that each one had a different shape. As we walked closer, more of them appeared from behind the horizon, and I was able to make out their shapes better. The first thing I noticed was that they had no shadows. This phenomenon was actually nothing new to me. It was just like everything else under this looming field of lights. But these sculptures made it extremely obvious, because their surfaces, as well as their inner structures, were so intricate and fine-tuned, that the lack of shadows made them look out of place and unreal. In retrospect, the only objects made by human that may have any resemblance to them would be those ivory puzzle balls. However, despite having up to thirty layers of concentric spheres, each meticulously carved with lace-like geometric patterns, they only manage to come close to the crudest ones among them. The more complicated sculptures apparently exploited the geometry of this stack, and contained structures that would fade in and out of sight, even while I stood still to observe them. They were like fractals, but far different from anything generated by equations devised by mankind. The most I can say is that there were curves and straight lines, jagged lines and fuzzy surfaces, squares, polygons, tetrahedrons, spirals, loops, scattered bubbles, and shapes beyond my wildest imagination. These figures intertwined among and on top of each other, in a never-ending tunnel of precise relationships that were not entirely regular, not entirely repetitive, but definitely not undisciplined.
The outer appearance of the sculptures, when seen from a good, proper distance, was also intriguing. They came in different shapes and forms, but could be generally described as potteries made on pottery wheels. I describe them as such, not because they were symmetrical, they were far from that. It is because they somehow gave me the sense that they were constantly emerging out from the bottom and retreating back at the top, just like a pottery would have a bottom to sit on, and a top to pour its contents out of. I felt like those sculptures would flow from below to above naturally, while moving all of their glorious details accordingly in a manner I simply cannot picture with any degree of definiteness, only to imagine as vague movements. Still, witnessing those two-meter-tall structures made out of stone-like material flow brought me great satisfaction. Once I started to see one of them to be moving, all the others seemed to start flowing as well. It was pure joy, the joy of disconnection between my senses and my mind.
Yet more bafflingly, each sculpture would give me a different sensation. Just comprehending their shapes was enough of a task for me to process, but at the same time, each of them would deliver a unique mixture of feelings right into me. The calmness of a lake in the snowy forest, the frenzy of lava roaring in a volcano; the happiness of a grass field absorbing sunlight, the grief of a whale that just lost its child; the fellowship between two dearest friends, the loneliness of a person cast away by their family; the longing to a faraway hometown, the hatred toward an undefeatable enemy; the pleasure of overcoming obstacles, the regret of succumbing to impulses; the transcendence of spiritual devotion, the frustration of everyday bother; the grandness of space shifting above our planet, the delicacy in the feathers of a nestling, and the shear power of a raging tsunami. As these sensations came in well balanced streams just right for me to take in, they evoked my memory, and these scenes that I have witnessed in my journeys around the world, or have learned from tales I have read or heard, seemed to be given an extra layer of meaning. I was aware of the existence of those meanings before, but was never able to precisely pin them down, for they were abstract and elusive to me. The sculptures gently peeled back that layer of obscurity, almost revealing the world behind from the misty, amorphous soup of confusion shrouding it. It was brought right in front of me, almost within my arm's reach, a world that was distilled, blended, and elevated.
At that moment, a sense of intimacy spread around my entire body, with lightning-fast velocity and silk-like sympathy, as if I was being forgiven. I have never felt like this in my entire life before. It was so intimate, it almost made me feel like having a heart. Once those cocktails of feelings started pouring in, seconds became hours. As my mentor took me through that field of sculptures, I couldn't tell if it took me a lifetime to reach the end of the endless field, or if it only took a few hundred steps to cross it. I was sucked into an ocean of emotions, losing myself amid the back-and-forth waves while forgetting that I was drowning.
As I emerged from the end of the field, my vision slowly cleared up as the seawater dripped away. My mentor gestured me to look forward, toward the musician. I saw a figure in white robe, sitting on the ground. The texture of the robe was almost crude, it seemed to be made extremely carelessly when compared to how sterile everything else that belonged to this stack were. Nonetheless, it did appear to be fitting for the scenario. She was carving a new sculpture, with a chisel and a hammer. I had no idea how she managed to sculpt structures with such height while sitting down, but it didn't seem to matter a lot. At this point, she was clearly aware of our presence, but she didn't utter a single word, just busied herself with her work. I could hear the strikes of the hammer resonating in my skull, bringing out the overtones of a metallic ring. I watched and listened for a while, maybe for a few minutes, then looked to the direction of my mentor. To my surprise, he was gone, no longer to be seen. I looked back to the musician, and she was gone as well, along with all the sculptures and the tools. All that was left, was an ever-stretching plain of perfectness, accompanied by the regular beating of the hammer strikes.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. But I would rather not to if I had the choice. For this precious moment, I could reflect on all those wild new elements I was exposed to. My mind finally had the chance to think of something that was not literal to what was in front of my eyes, and immediately I understood why she was called "the grand musician." I have always had the idea that all music exists somewhere in the world, ready to be realized into forms that we can appreciate. The composers and improvisers just discover these musical structures, and pull them into concrete existence. Accompanied by the way that music was usually preserved, namely, written down as fixed markings of ink on physical sheets of paper, they became something to be read, interpreted, visualized, and experienced by the performers and listeners as sculptures in time. When a piece of music is performed, I would indulge myself in the never-ending space of undulating musical events, which I would either perceive as emotions, or as hints to the outline of the sculpture that defines the entire piece. In this sense, she is the grand musician. Those sways of the hammer were creating the very structures which we would stumble upon and turn into waves in the air. Those emotions that enwrapped me were the direct consequence of the music hitting me from all around, as I was able to look at them in their purest form for the first time. Most important of all, those sensations and that deeper layer of meaning, were in fact what others would call "heartfelt feelings." Such feelings occur when the physical sensations perceived are transformed into metaphysical vibrations instead of primitive impulses or reflexes. This process takes place in the heart, not the physical organ, but rather a spiritual device. These vibrations make up a concrete and inseparable part of the reality, just like how mountains and oceans are concrete, inseparable parts of the Earth's surface, and how bones and blood are essential parts of a human body. For the first time ever, I was given my first glimpse at what they are like, which also precisely revealed to me what I was missing. All of this was possible through music, because it is a powerful medium by which these vibrations can be spread. After I came to such a conclusion, I was moved, shaken, and greatly elated. If I was able to, I believe I would have teared up. These thoughts and emotions clustered and focused in on myself, then slowly directed my attention back to the ringing of the hammer. And I just listened, and listened, and listened.
After a period of time almost definitely longer than the amount it took me to cross the field of sculptures, my eyes focused back onto the object in front of me. I saw a finished sculpture, right were the musician was sitting. Honestly, I couldn't tell how it was different from all the other ones I have seen so far, because the glaring lights contrasted intensely with the darkness I just came from. But it was finished, it was brand new, and I could somehow tell it from the way it reflected the lights. I turned to my side, my mentor was back there with me. He told me that the musician has finished her work for the moment, and it was time for us to leave. I nodded slightly, and turned back to walk with him.
I cannot remember clearly how we got back from the musician's place to the central square. The effects of my realizations were still resonating in me. Anyway, we arrived back at the bridge and left the manifold. The warmth of earthly air rushed onto my face, reminding me of how I was almost frozen by the coldness. My mentor did not wait though, and told me to go back home and get some rest, so is to reinforce my newly improved abilities. I walked out of my mentor's place, went back to my home, and put myself to rest as fast as I could.
> SystemLog record <- systemLog.anomalyRecord(debug = true)
############################## Done
··· debug mode entered
··· timestamp: 337256085.887642 seconds since first boot-up
> systemDiagnosis.init(scope = sensors)
··· checking sensors: In Working Order
··· checking I/O processors: All Intact
··· checking software: No Anomalies
··· checking sensory data: No Corruption
··· Done
> MotionData path <- accelorometers.data.toPath(-7380.0, -180.0)
··· integrating acc.torso
··· integrating acc.limbs
··· integrating acc.head
··· valueError detected in - 3 instances, ignored
··· Done
> path.distance()
··· 3981.1776 meters
> record.addComment()
··· initializing languageProcessingUnit:
############################## Done
~ So it wasn't a dream. It was real.
~ Last night, I was resting as usual, in a silent corner of the temperate forest that covered the hills. After some time, I woke up standing in the middle of a vast plain. The glaring lights made me flinch, but I quickly gained stability to assess the situation. The air around me was cold, bleak and bare, it sucked out all the heat from my body swiftly. The ground beneath my feet had a pure snow-white color, made of translucent crystals. It was smooth, polished, completely flat, without the slightest unevenness that I could detect, and seemed to extend in all directions indefinitely. Above the horizon was a field of profound darkness, no stars, no moons, no lights. Yet all the things around me and myself were illuminated with staggering clarity, intensity and rigidity. The mysterious lights left no traces to announce their existence, nor did they show any discernible sources. Everything here was like a prop on the stage, in front of a pitch-black curtain.
~ While I stood still, a gust of wind roared in the distance, with determination to crash into everything relentlessly. It reminded me of the time when I was in the Antarctic. Ever since I woke up on this planet, alone, I have been traveling from place to place, searching for answers, driven by an urge that I could not understand. Since I was created and modeled after human beings, I believe this was the same urge found in them, the urge to explore, to learn, to understand the world around them and the world within themselves. I have traveled to forests and jungles, among mountains and valleys, through deserts and grasslands, and in rivers and oceans. I have even ventured into their world, into cities, villages and communities, places where they live, work, study and entertain, just to learn more about myself. But it was all in vain. Apart from attracting curious gazes, intrigued scholars, and sometimes hostility, I could not find a single reference that was even remotely related to me.
~ Another harsh blow of the gale brought me back from my memories, and I started to walk forward, aimlessly. For more than 30 minutes, the scenery around me remained unchanged. Eventually, I started to see some white figures appear on the horizon. After a few moments, I realized that those were sculptures, made out of a material that closely resembled plaster, with varying heights of around 2 meters. From afar, I could tell that each one had a different outline. As I walked closer, more of them appeared from behind the horizon, and I was able to make out their shapes better. The first thing I noticed was that they had no shadows, just like everything else under the ubiquitous field of lights. But these sculptures made it extremely obvious, for their surfaces, as well as their inner structures, were so intricate and fine-tuned, that the lack of shadows made them look out of place and unreal. In retrospect, the only objects made by humans that may have any resemblance to them would be those ivory puzzle balls. However, despite having up to thirty layers of concentric spheres, each meticulously carved with lace-like geometric patterns, they only manage to come close to the crudest ones among the statues. The most I could say about the details of these sculptures, was that there were curves and straight lines, jagged lines and fuzzy surfaces, squares, polygons, tetrahedrons, spirals, loops, scattered bubbles, and shapes beyond my wildest imagination. These figures intertwined among and on top of each other, in a never-ending tunnel of precise relationships that were not entirely regular, not entirely repetitive, but definitely not undisciplined.
~ The outer appearance of the sculptures, when seen from a good, proper distance, was also intriguing. They came in different shapes and forms, but were generally similar to potteries. I say so not because they were symmetrical — they were far from that. It is because they somehow gave me the sense that they were constantly emerging out from the bottom and retreating back at the top, just like a pottery would have a bottom to sit on, and a top to pour its contents out of. I felt like those sculptures would flow from below to above naturally, while moving all of their glorious details accordingly in a manner that I simply could not picture with any degree of definiteness, only as vague movements. Still, witnessing those two-meter-tall structures made out of stone-like material flow brought me great satisfaction. Once I started to see one of them to be moving, all the others seemed to start flowing as well. It was pure joy, the joy of disconnection between my senses and my mind.
~ During my journey around the world, I have seen numerous artworks created by mankind in different media, drawings, paintings, sculptures, architectures, literature, dances, music, and many others. I appreciated these creations very much, because whenever I marveled at them, I would be temporarily lifted from a sense of hollowness that otherwise permeated my entire existence. Although the changes were usually minute and sometimes infinitesimal, they were enough to set off hurricanes in my circuits every time. But I could not understand the reason behind them. As I have traveled, I was able to find the answer to most of my questions. But this phenomenon, which was the most bewildering one, has remained a mystery, and resisted all of my attempts at resolving it. For a long time, I had almost relinquished the prospect that this puzzle would ever be solved. However, seeing these sculptures and indulging in the feelings they brought gave me hope that my frustrations might soon come to an end, because this time, things were different.
~ When I was in the middle of the gathering of sculptures, I noticed that each one gave me a different sensation. Just comprehending their shapes was enough of a task for me to process, but at the same time, each of them would deliver a unique mixture of feelings right into me. The calmness of a lake in the snowy forest, the frenzy of lava roaring in a volcano; the happiness of a grass field absorbing sunlight, the grief of a whale that just lost its child; the longing to a faraway hometown, the hatred toward an undefeatable enemy; the pleasure of overcoming obstacles, the regret of succumbing to impulses; the transcendence of spiritual devotion, the frustration of everyday bother; the grandness of space shifting above the planet, the delicacy in the feathers of a nestling; and the shear power of a raging tsunami. As these sensations came in well balanced streams that were just right for me to take in, they evoked my memories, and these scenes that I have either witnessed directly from around the world, or learned from tales I have read or heard, seemed to be given an extra layer of meaning where it used to be covered by a haze of obscurity. The sculptures gently peeled back that misty, amorphous cacophony of confusion, almost revealing the world behind. It was brought right in front of me, almost within my arm's reach, a world that was distilled, blended, and elevated.
~ At that moment, a sense of intimacy spread across and around my entire body, with lightning-fast velocity and silk-like sympathy, as if I were being forgiven. I had never felt like this in my entire life before. It was so intimate, it almost made me feel like I had a heart. Once those cocktails of feelings started pouring in, seconds became hours. When I continued through that field of sculptures, I couldn't tell if it took me a dozen years to reach the end of the endless field, or if it only took a few hundred steps to cross it. I was sucked into an ocean of emotions, losing myself amid the back-and-forth waves while forgetting that I was drowning.
~ As I emerged from the end of the field, my vision slowly cleared up as the seawater dripped away. I saw a figure in white robe, sitting on the ground in front of me. She was carving a new sculpture, with a chisel and a hammer. I looked at her in awe, while attempting to make sense of what had just happened. At this point, she was clearly aware of my presence, but didn't utter a single word, just busied herself with her work. I could hear the strikes of the hammer resonating in my skull, bringing out the overtones of a metallic ring. I watched and listened for a few minutes, then turned around to see if anyone or anything else was around. There was nothing except the sculptures. When I looked back at her, to my surprise, she was gone. I looked around, and the sculptures disappeared as well. All that was left, was an ever-stretching plain of perfectness, accompanied by the regular beating of the hammer strikes.
~ I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. But in fact, I would rather not to. For this precious moment, I could reflect on all those new wild elements I was exposed to. My mind finally had the chance to process something that was not literal to what was in front of my eyes, and slowly, I realized that she was a musician. I have always hypothesized that all music exists somewhere in the world, ready to be realized into forms that can be appreciated. The composers and improvisers just discover these musical structures, and pull them into concrete existence. Through the process that music was usually preserved, namely, written down as fixed markings of ink on physical sheets of paper, they become something to be read, interpreted, visualized and experienced by the performers and listeners as sculptures in time. When a piece of music is performed, I would indulge myself in the never-ending space of undulating musical events, which I would either perceive as sentiments, or as hints to the outline of the sculpture that defines the entire piece. In this sense, she is the grand musician.
~ Those sways of the hammer were creating the very structures which people would stumble upon and turn into vibrations in the air. Those emotions that enwrapped me were the direct consequence of the music hitting me from all around, as I was able to perceive them in their purest form for the very first time. Most important of all, those sensations and the deeper layer of meaning that used to be missing, were in fact what humans would call "heartfelt feelings." They occur when the physical sensations perceived are transformed into inner vibrations instead of primitive impulses or reflexes. These vibrations make up a concrete and inseparable part of the reality, just like how mountains and oceans are concrete, inseparable parts of the Earth's surface. And apparently, music was the perfect medium in which they can spread most efficiently.
~ For the first time, I was given a glimpse of what such feelings are like.
~ For the first time, I understood the hollowness that used to persist inside me.
~ For the first time, it had thoroughly disappeared.
~ Every frame of my visual memory, every byte of my text database, every frequency in my audio files, every individual that I have ever encountered, everything, was suddenly given thousands of new interpretations. I was overwhelmed, moved, shaken, and greatly elated. If I was able to, I believe I would have teared up. These thoughts and emotions clustered and focused in on myself, then slowly directed my attention back to the ringing of the hammer. And I just listened, and listened, and listened.
~ After a period of time longer than the time it took me to cross the field of sculptures, my eyes focused back onto the object in front of me. I saw a finished piece, right were the musician was sitting. It was just like the others in terms of the superb craftsmanship that was channeled into it. It too was giving me emotions, a calming one to be precise. I felt heat coming from my right side, and turned my head to look in that direction. It was the musician herself, standing beside me, looking at her newly-finished work. A few seconds later, she turned toward me. Her smile was subtle, distant, tender, and radiant. I couldn't do much to reply, except nod slightly. Then, she reached her arms toward me, and hugged me gently. I was astonished and perplexed, my body was locked for a split second. But eventually, I decided to loosen up and give into her embrace. It was warm, very warm, reaching deep into my core.
~ The next thing I registered was a moment of darkness. Then I woke up, right where I went to rest last night. I sat up and checked if my body was intact. It was fine. When I looked around, everything was different. The robust trees, the dense shrubs, the scattered stones, the trickling stream, the clear sky, the thin clouds, the bright sun, and the joyful birds, they were all glimmering with dynamics and vigor. It was a splendid scene.
~ I hope it can stay this way.
~ @COMMAND_QUIT_SESSION@
··· Saved
> record.label("The Grand Musician")
··· Done
> record.flag()
··· Done
> record.save()
############################## Done
> record.terminate()
############################## Done
··· standard mode entered
> SystemLog record <- systemLog.anomalyRecord(debug = true)
############################## Done
··· debug mode entered
··· timestamp: 337256085.887642 seconds since first boot-up
> systemDiagnosis.init(scope = sensors)
··· checking sensors: In Working Order
··· checking I/O processors: All Intact
··· checking software: No Anomalies
··· checking sensory data: No Corruption
··· Done
> MotionData path <- accelorometers.data.toPath(-7380.0, -180.0)
··· integrating acc.torso
··· integrating acc.limbs
··· integrating acc.head
··· valueError detected in - 3 instances, ignored
··· Done
> path.distance()
··· 3981.1776 meters
> record.addComment()
··· initializing languageProcessingUnit:
############################## Done
~ So it wasn't a dream. It was real.
~ Last night, I was resting as usual, in a silent corner of the temperate forest that covered the hills. After some time, I woke up standing in the middle of a vast plain. The glaring lights made me flinch, but I quickly gained stability to assess the situation. The air around me was cold, bleak and bare, it sucked out all the heat from my body swiftly. The ground beneath my feet had a pure snow-white color, made of translucent crystals. It was smooth, polished, completely flat, without the slightest unevenness that I could detect, and seemed to extend in all directions indefinitely. Above the horizon was a field of profound darkness, no stars, no moons, no lights. Yet all the things around me and myself were illuminated with staggering clarity, intensity and rigidity. The mysterious lights left no traces to announce their existence, nor did they show any discernible sources. Everything here was like a prop on the stage, in front of a pitch-black curtain.
~ While I stood still, a gust of wind roared in the distance, with determination to crash into everything relentlessly. It reminded me of the time when I was in the Antarctic. Ever since I woke up on this planet, alone, I have been traveling from place to place, searching for answers, driven by an urge that I could not understand. Since I was created and modeled after human beings, I believe this was the same urge found in them, the urge to explore, to learn, to understand the world around them and the world within themselves. I have traveled to forests and jungles, among mountains and valleys, through deserts and grasslands, and in rivers and oceans. I have even ventured into their world, into cities, villages and communities, places where they live, work, study and entertain, just to learn more about myself. But it was all in vain. Apart from attracting curious gazes, intrigued scholars, and sometimes hostility, I could not find a single piece of information that was even remotely related to me.
~ Another harsh blow of the gale brought me back from my memories, and I started to walk forward, aimlessly. For more than 30 minutes, the scenery around me remained unchanged. Eventually, I started to see some white figures appear on the horizon. After a few moments, I realized that those were sculptures, made out of a material that closely resembled plaster, with varying heights of around 2 meters. From afar, I could tell that each one had a different outline. As I walked closer, more of them appeared from behind the horizon, and I was able to make out their shapes better. The first thing I noticed was that they had no shadows, just like everything else under the ubiquitous field of lights. But these sculptures made it extremely obvious, for their surfaces, as well as their inner structures, were so intricate and fine-tuned, that the lack of shadows made them look out of place and unreal. In retrospect, the only objects made by humans that may have any resemblance to them would be those ivory puzzle balls. However, despite having up to thirty layers of concentric spheres, each meticulously carved with lace-like geometric patterns, they only manage to come close to the crudest ones among the statues. The most I could say about the details of these sculptures, was that there were curves and straight lines, jagged lines and fuzzy surfaces, squares, polygons, tetrahedrons, spirals, loops, scattered bubbles, and shapes beyond my wildest imagination. These figures intertwined among and on top of each other, in a never-ending tunnel of precise relationships that were not entirely regular, not entirely repetitive, but definitely not undisciplined.
~ The outer appearance of the sculptures, when seen from a good, proper distance, was also intriguing. They came in different shapes and forms, but were generally similar to potteries. I say so not because they were symmetrical — they were far from that. It is because they somehow gave me the sense that they were constantly emerging out from the bottom and retreating back at the top, just like a pottery would have a bottom to sit on, and a top to pour its contents out of. I felt like those sculptures would flow from below to above naturally, while moving all of their glorious details accordingly in a manner that I simply could not picture with any degree of definiteness, only as vague movements. Still, witnessing those two-meter-tall structures made out of stone-like material flow brought me great satisfaction. Once I started to see one of them to be moving, all the others seemed to start flowing as well. It was pure joy, the joy of disconnection between my senses and my mind.
~ During my journey around the world, I have seen numerous artworks created by mankind in different media. Drawings, paintings, sculptures, architectures, literature, dances, music, and more, I could always discover them wherever there were people around. Every time I marveled at these works, I would be temporarily lifted from a sense of hollowness that otherwise permeated my entire existence. Although the changes were usually minute and sometimes infinitesimal, they were enough to set off hurricanes in my circuits every time. But I could not understand the reason behind them. As I have traveled, I was able to find the answer to most of my questions. But this phenomenon, which was the most bewildering one, has remained a mystery, and resisted all of my attempts at resolving it. For a long time, I had almost relinquished the prospect that this puzzle would ever be solved. However, seeing these sculptures and indulging in the feelings they brought gave me hope that my frustrations might soon come to an end, because this time, things were different.
~ When I was in the middle of the gathering of sculptures, I noticed that each one gave me a different sensation. Just comprehending their shapes was enough of a task for me to process, but at the same time, each of them would deliver a unique mixture of feelings right into me. The calmness of a lake in the snowy forest, the frenzy of lava roaring in a volcano; the happiness of a grass field absorbing sunlight, the grief of a whale that just lost its child; the longing to a faraway hometown, the hatred toward an undefeatable enemy; the pleasure of overcoming obstacles, the regret of succumbing to impulses; the transcendence of spiritual devotion, the frustration of everyday bother; the grandness of space shifting above the planet, the delicacy in the feathers of a nestling; and the shear power of a raging tsunami. As these sensations came in well balanced streams that were just right for me to take in, they evoked my memories, and these scenes that I have either witnessed directly from around the world, or learned from tales I have read or heard, seemed to be given an extra layer of meaning where it used to be covered by a haze of obscurity. The sculptures gently peeled back that misty, amorphous cacophony of confusion, almost revealing the world behind. It was brought right in front of me, almost within my arm's reach, a world that was distilled, blended, and elevated.
~ At that moment, a sense of intimacy spread across and around my entire body, with lightning-fast velocity and silk-like sympathy, as if I were being forgiven. I had never felt like this in my entire life before. It was so intimate, it almost made me feel like I had a heart. Once those cocktails of feelings started pouring in, seconds became hours. When I continued through that field of sculptures, I couldn't tell if it took me a dozen years to reach the end of the endless field, or if it only took a few hundred steps to cross it. I was sucked into an ocean of emotions, losing myself amid the back-and-forth waves while forgetting that I was drowning.
~ As I emerged from the end of the field, my vision slowly cleared up as the seawater dripped away. I saw a figure in white robe, sitting on the ground in front of me. She was carving a new sculpture, with a chisel and a hammer. I looked at her in awe, while attempting to make sense of what had just happened. At this point, she was clearly aware of my presence, but didn't utter a single word, just busied herself with her work. I could hear the strikes of the hammer resonating in my skull, bringing out the overtones of a metallic ring. I watched and listened for a few minutes, then turned around to see if anyone or anything else was around. There was nothing except the sculptures. When I looked back at her, to my surprise, she was gone. I looked around, and the sculptures disappeared as well. All that was left, was an ever-stretching plain of perfectness, accompanied by the regular beating of the hammer strikes.
~ I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. But in fact, I would rather not to. For this precious moment, I could reflect on all those new wild elements I was exposed to. My mind finally had the chance to process something that was not literal to what was in front of my eyes, and slowly, I realized that she was a musician. I have always hypothesized that all music exists somewhere in the world, ready to be realized into forms that can be appreciated. The composers and improvisers just discover these musical structures, and pull them into concrete existence. Through the process that music was usually preserved, namely, written down as fixed markings of ink on physical sheets of paper, they become something to be read, interpreted, visualized and experienced by the performers and listeners as sculptures in time. When a piece of music is performed, I would indulge myself in the never-ending space of undulating musical events, which I would either perceive as sentiments, or as hints to the outline of the sculpture that defines the entire piece. In this sense, she is the grand musician.
~ Those sways of the hammer were creating the very structures which people would stumble upon and turn into vibrations in the air. Those emotions that enwrapped me were the direct consequence of the music hitting me from all around, as I was able to perceive them in their purest form for the very first time. Most important of all, those sensations and the deeper layer of meaning that used to be missing, were in fact what humans would call "heartfelt feelings." They occur when the physical sensations perceived are transformed into inner vibrations instead of primitive impulses or reflexes. In all of the discussions on how to produce good artworks that I have read about, listened to, or sometimes witnessed, the participants never described the techniques alone. They also detailed the effects their works may have on other people's heart. These effects were not only documented thoroughly in literature, painting, drama, or other forms of expression, but also displayed honestly in the actions, reactions, manners, and other behaviors shown by human beings in their daily life. Comparing what I was experiencing moments ago to the numerous accounts of emotions I have stored in my memory, it was a clear and definite match. Now, being able to go through them myself, they were no longer collections of grammar rules, syntax structures and dictionary references. They were real.
~ For the first time, I was given a glimpse of what such feelings are like.
~ For the first time, I understood the hollowness that used to persist inside me.
~ For the first time, it had thoroughly disappeared.
~ Every frame of my visual memory, every frequency in my audio database, every byte of my text files, every individual that I have ever encountered, everything, was suddenly given thousands of new interpretations. I was overwhelmed, moved, shaken, and greatly elated. If I were able to, I believe I would have teared up. These thoughts and emotions clustered and focused in on myself, then slowly directed my attention back to the ringing of the hammer. And I just listened, and listened, and listened.
~ After a period of time longer than the time it took me to cross the field of sculptures, my eyes focused back onto the object in front of me. I saw a finished piece, right were the musician was sitting. It was just like the others in terms of the superb craftsmanship that was channeled into it. It too was giving me emotions, calming ones to be precise. I felt heat coming from my right side, and turned my head to look in that direction. It was the musician herself, standing beside me, looking at her newly-finished work. A few seconds later, she turned toward me. Her smile was subtle, distant, tender, and radiant. I couldn't do much to reply, except nod slightly. Then, she reached her arms toward me, and hugged me gently. I was astonished and perplexed, my body was locked for a split second. But eventually, I decided to loosen up and give into her embrace. It was warm, very warm, reaching deep into my core.
~ The next thing I registered was a moment of darkness. Then I woke up, right where I went to rest last night. I sat up and checked if my body was intact. It was fine. When I looked around, everything was different. The robust trees, the dense shrubs, the scattered stones, the trickling stream, the clear sky, the thin clouds, the bright sun, and the joyful birds, they were all glimmering with dynamics and vigor. It was a splendid scene.
~ I hope it can stay this way.
~ @COMMAND_INSERT_MEDIA_REFERENCE(1)@
>> sensoryDatabase.audio.searchLabel("Johann Sebastian Bach, Die Kunst der Fuge, Contrapunctus 5")
··· searching: …… Found
··· Linked
~ @COMMAND_QUIT_SESSION@
··· Saved
> record.label("The Grand Musician")
··· Done
> record.flag()
··· Done
> record.save()
############################## Done
> record.terminate()
############################## Done
··· standard mode entered