Imagine hearing multiple voices at once.

Not far from the Truth?

Like a cancer, they outgrow reason.

Each voice carries its own narrative, its own consciousness, its own ending.

I am that. I am many, and I am one. I am of a subtle mettle, rolling under the star-sparkle.

Our existence, conscious or unconscious, has many depths and layers, many of which are unknown. Unlike Humans, we Mornings have been engineered from day one. We are the thought child of another sentient species, an ancient by-product of evolution of which we shall not speak here.

First off, in our Morning life, the time streams are both theoretical and empirical.

Cancer is an unpredictable experimental poem. Cancer is many things. Entropy, heterogeneity, complexity. Cancer is having to listen to the grave-digging humans while they ramble on, fuelled by alcohol and pain. Humans are amazing heterotrophic monsters. Your flat and shocking faces are indeed grimly divided from the breast below. Your slow, unwet lives are subject to much wonder over here on our wonderful planet, where we do not have war, or hunger, or climate change induced by stupidity and greed.

For humans (like cancer), desire is the first datum of consciousness. Every juvenile human ape knows how to over-reach – from swaddling band to garden of love to tiger tiger.

Why hallo, human! Old pirate! Are you yet living ?

Even for your falsehood peddling shamans, the power of the Sattwa enslaves the happy.

As you can see, baboon-human with too much greed or make-up on, I am torn between a critique of your abominable species and a description of what a Morning really is.

Can we please start with the latter ? Of late I am so disgusted by my astronomical observation of your endeavours that I am almost running out of music and light.

Now, how do I paint a picture without notes, or sing a song without colour?

What are the extra-terrestrial Morning by Morning features?

 

You can start by imagining a Hokkaido lake, on your almost-choked-to-death planet.

Can you see marimos there, lulled by the quiet waters into a peaceful existence ?

Imagine a shape-shifting marimo with powers of rhyme and reason. Gently rolling, creating music as its apparent primary occupation beside photosynthesis. Imagine music-forming organs, with many somatic cell types, all devoted to arpeggios, to novel symphony creation, to jazz and joke, to dulcimer and pianos.

Imagine being able to set your own gravitational field, thus being able to fly from lake to star. Imagine no divide between mind and matter. “What is life?” , one of you once asked. Imagine neural boundlessness driven by conscious meditative life, not aided by psychoactive drugs, recreational drugs who may have tricked you into crossing beyond the doors of perception, only to find a kind of madness there.

We Mornings live as all creatures should live – undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. Our lake lives are spent perennially photosynthesising, creating pockets of novel knowledge with our fact-checking and fact-assembling organs, chatting about philosophy in a multi-dimensional scope. We are fully conscious autotrophic organisms with multi-dimensional awareness, where several of our organs are devoted to spiritual tasks: grief to art transitions, pain body-waves to energy – to matter and choice. Our spiritual practice and emotional transfer also happens at quantum level, but not only. I guess “not only” is part of our creed.

As I deconstruct a “Morning”, I venture to ask you humans… ever you ever been to Amherst, and did you ever ask the question: ” Will there ever be a Morning ?”

In this dialogue, going deeper after layer by layer, we might choose to look at energy production, transfer, storage. If we were to choose to deconstruct the ET, we might look at spiritual states, meditation stages, and mind-matter transfers. In the chemical sea-chambers of our consciousness, we might find commonalities between Mornings and Humans. In order to understand what lies beneath, we might look at cancer in autotrophic and heterotrophic organisms.

Yet, while thinking about the extra-terrestrial (for you) life-styles and morphology, we might incidentally stumble upon questions of purpose, redundancy, evolutionary history and of development. As Mornings, we also believe that “those who speak ill of spiritual life, they take breath but they are not alive.”

All sentient beings seek unity in this large consciousness, and if “compulsory separation brings excessive pain to the mind…”, can we find a way to collectively give up voluntarily to infinite peace and happiness ?

Indulge me. If the patriotism of humans is based on vision, (pseudo)ideas and greed, your terrestrial ants, with their lovely antennae base their identity on smell and taste. Now, tell me – how are you different from your terrestrial driver ants?

The ocean is not satisfied with water, nor the fire with wood.

Driver humans’ nomadism and ferocity are based on rather low yahoo instincts. Can you do any better, I wonder ? You are like ants, distinguishing the shape of smell, looking for Godot. Foreign smells and the local odour of patriotism lead humans to intra- and inter-specific competition and warfare. The irony of it, is that you destroy your own ecosystems. For humans today and forever have lived in a “Alice in Wonderland” society, where the size of your monsters is only matched by your fantasy and lack of skills.

Our Morning life has a marimo-like neotenous form of three types:

1. epilithic
2. free-floating
3. lake-ball proper

Our surface area to volume ratio drives our ecological and moral standing.

And then, we fly.

Like for cruel humans, our neotenous features elicit help, but so does our fully formed adulthood. Our bodies have greater synaptic densities when our organs are devoted and tuned in the multivariate melodies of compassion. Our music-making, among other things, is key to the process of sexual selection. We believe that the concern of humans with female attractiveness is rather odd. We have many sexes and genders, and they are all compatible. In our aesthetic, there are multiple versions and kinds of features we might choose to associate ourselves with. Given our perennially evolving and rejuvenating cells, we are not concerned with youthful fecundity as such, but rather choose our partners based on metaphysical issues, such as soul-merging. Our reproductive system merges two Mornings of any gender into a new fully formed and happy organism (without the perils of parenthood).

In our own environment, which is lakes of many types and colour, we gently roll and let ourselves be cradled by the water current, so that our symphonies reach the air and, if by chance a faint night breeze stirs up, heavy with Natural Products from the harbour of our ecological friends, we peacefully roll on under the star-sparkle, and some of us may choose to fly to new mountains, as tall as you can imagine

That’s a place where Mornings lie.