Inspired by Cloud Atlas

This is a piece I wrote while daydreaming at work.  It's a bit whimsical and borderline nonsensical, but it's a product of inspiration (a good example of something magical that is so very difficult to translate materially) and I wanted to share it.

Inspired by Cloud Atlas

by AJ Snook

Every choice we make has profound consequences on the future, consequences that outlast our temporal flesh and go rushing on without us.  Each are a drop in the tsunami that is life.  Each a snowflake in the avalanche of existence.  Riding an unstoppable force that has been pushed forward since that first outward blast seeded the universe with elements and inertia.  Creation is art of the highest order.  Existence is elemental beauty.  Why don’t we be a part of that exquisite dance?  Why don’t we all join in?  Is our sentience trapping us from entering the ball or blinding us from the fact that we’re in the center of the dance floor?

From chaos, order, pattern and design are realized.  If this is the Where, is it possible that every other possible action not undertaken is performing its own play on some parallel state in the Nowhere?  In that scenario we are all connected, all good, all bad, all kind, all cruel, all beautiful and all ugly.  And all of the finer descriptions that fall in between.  All alive.  All dead.  All past, all future, both of which are, in some way, present.  This said by the wise old man contemplating existence from the mount.  This played out by you and me.  

All of these infinite paths geometrically darting out into infinite space, intersecting each other at every possible point on a plane unseen, creating a totality of pure love energy, the secret elemental ingredient behind all things.  And to comprehend this is akin to the universe holding up a mirror and saying, “Oh, there I am.”  But the act of witnessing our reflection has no meaning until we can wipe the fog from the glass, our observation skills so acute and refined that we can point out the flaws and blemishes.  We are spiritual babies, maybe without blemishes -- for we just are. Or maybe we are just unable to understand yet that what we see when we gaze slack-jawed up at the Milky-way arching overhead, is us.