"So can you teach me to do that?" "I could give it all to you in a wink, but if your mind isn't correctly wired and so unified, the onset brings on anhiliation, rather than enlightenment." "And my brain . . ." ". . . would be anhiliated." "That sucks." "Don't fear, whatever you do. You're head is close, for sure. You understand harmonic resonance. If you work at it, you'll attain enlightenment in this life. If not, the next. That reality depends upon you, and you alone because you're on the threshold. It's hard for me to call the ones on the verge of transcendance." "Rug against the world," he said. "You're not alone. There are others, as I said. Some perfectly enlightened, some still working at it." "Working at learning light?" "Learning light over a great distance traveled. Note that the deeper your focus the more this phenomenal world falls away, the more you learn to unlearn and unify your thinking the more you luminate, the more you luminate the greater the unattachment. The mind becomes sensitive to the electromagnetic forces when you unify your thinking. Unified thought processes produce a greater sensitivity towards the subsonic frequencies resonating thoughout all universes and the scalar waves that guide them towards ulimate perfection. When one becomes lumninant, when one learns focus, the frequencies bring evolutionary changes within, written in the flexible coding of RNA. RNA binds matter to dimension, which in turn brings about progressive changes dependent upon the point of interaction between the universes, dimensions and scalar waves. All points are realized eventually, because the primary phase waves reached the Endpoint directly after the inflation of this universe. The same holds true for all universes, the the particular conditions, the frequencies of the system states vary, acting independently of one another but ultimately remain matter learning light through quantum harmonic chromodynamics. But this explanation is lengthy and complex, and can easily be summed up by one word." "What's that?" "Om." "Oh." "No, Om." "I know." "Say that over and over to yourelf: 'I knooowwmmm, I knooowwwmmm'. Then you'll learn light over time. That's one way, there are others." "And that's what happened to the Mayans?" "Learned light and left the planet. They became a cohesive band of energy and travel together to this day. If you listen, you can hear what they said right before they began becoming light one by one." "What are they saying," Rug said, listening to the wind rustling the jungle below. "They're saying this: Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" "That's it?" "That's all that needs to be said. The mind and cosmos take care of the rest." "It's what they do best, I suppose." "Ultimately speaking, there's not one other thing for them to become, other than become the best, other than evolve towards a unified perfection, other than realize a single isochronus frequency." "Immortality, there is no substitue." "Immortality, Quality, Perfection, Perpetual Motion, Ideal and Value all the same thing, all synonymous, all attainable by simply relating to the proper resonation. You walk the long way around, go through, fly over, define, catorgorize, label, disect, measure, meter, monitor, and eventually master. All paths lead to the Om in home." "That makes sense. Maybe that's why there's an Ow in house. A house that isn't a home, hurts." "From Id to Idea to Ideal." "And the body . . ." " . . . becomes carbon by and by, only to reorganize another. The same is true for the unfocused spirit. If information is energy, and the spirits manifests in this energy made physical by neurons, synapses and dendrites, their number dependent upon the amount of information; it would follow, logically, that lesser amounts of unfocused energy would return to the incohate whole upon expiration, whereas greater amounts of energy, highly unified, tend to remain unified." "It sounds simple." "Simply, Eternity is the lowest common denominator of the Perfect Whole. Cut it up anyway you like, in the End it comes out simple, sleek and sensical." "Energy equals mass times velocity squared." "Or Om, whichever you prefer. In terms of human evolution they mean precisely the same thing." "You know, now that you mention it," Rug said, "It is interesting that Science and Spirituality should be juxtaposed considering they share a common goal." "They share this goal because they are both creations of the mind, hence both related and illusory. I find it both fascinating and frustrating that the science of Physics, a purely human concept has turned on the master who created it." "The old hard science versus soft science paradox." "Precisely. Physics, Chemistry and the like scoff at the sciences who study the workings of the furnace in which they were fired." "Placing the cart before the horse." "In which case the simplest solution is to turn the horse around. Do you remember the story The Sorcerer's Apprentice?" "Sure. From Fantasia." "The contemporary version of a very old story, to be sure, the ancient story of Mankind learning light, learning the depths and responsibilities of power, with the moral of the story being 'a little knowledge is a potentially disaterous thing, though nigh n'er uncorrectable'." "Just turn the horse around." "Or, with more exertion, the cart. The outcome is the same: both move in a unified direction. The artist expresses this perfection with oils on canvas, the physicist with numbers, the poet with prose, the monk with meditation, they differ only in molecular media." "Like a cart and a horse." "There. That's it. Now you've got it," I said, as we sat on the Mayan dreamstate stage watching the sun run it's course, setting carmine crimson, pink and orange and blushing baton rouge in the dark green sea of the Guatamalan rainforest. "Now you're learning light." "I'd better be. I'm not getting any younger." "Well, look on the brightside, Rug, you're not getting any older, either, you're getting smarter." "Good point." "That, my friend, remains the finest point of all." _ _ _ Rug stayed for a week, stayed until his head felt full and serene, like a stomach after a fine holiday feast. We parted, friends forever, and he swore secrecy, for the most point, not to tell anyone about my living here at El Mitadore'. Keep the kindred cat in the grey matter bag, he promised, on the condition that he could tell those whom he knew for sure were very close to becoming light. Like Rug. For a mortal, he made fantastic progress. As I watched him begin to hack his way back to civilization, I saw that his luminosity had increased ten-fold since he first broke through the brush. "There's hope for mortals afterall," I said to myself, standing on the temple, feeling the sun exciting the molecules of my flesh. Immortality retains many fine qualities, of course, but sensory perception is still one of the finest creations of the cosmos. To be sure, you can travel for thousands of light years and still find no finer sensation than feeling the sun on your face and the wind whispering secrets behind your back. That's what keeps them coming back to samsara. That's what keeps them mortal. Despite the delicasies, however, I still wouldn't swap lives. The road rising to meet you, the wind blowing at your back, the sun shining warm upon your face, these don't hold a candle to what it feels like to learn light, to actually become that which you find so pleasing. Now there's a sensation for you. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! _ _ _ Like a teenager, the world aged considerably from 1910 to 1920. That decade will forever be remembered as one of pretentious prepubescent rage. There would be more growing to be done as things progressed, but this decade set the stage for much of the century. War and Revolution. Civilization clammored for it. They wanted to use their newly-found toys. They wanted carnage from the heathens of the world, and would stop at nothing short of a million or so souls to fill the guilty coffer quotas of vain Victorian virtues. Nothing more. Everyone wanted to be King of the Hill, even if they had to blow the hill to Kingdom Come. I stood by and watched, did nothing. Not one thing. The choice was theirs. This is a downside of freewill. Humans remain entirely free to blow themselves to Kingdom Come, if they choose to do so. I could, however, stack the deck against such an outcome. And I would do just that. The first of my avatars, Gandhi and Einstein, were grown and working towards their respective destinies, much of which would be influenced by this decade, of course. This decade the tribes of the world would fight each other, fight themselves, and polarize an entire worldwide generation. The resulting refractions of this polarization, of course, would send the century into a writhing epileptic frenzy. As I said, this would be a world-wide occurence. Everywhere, people fought. They fought throughout the Americas, Russia, England, Portugal and Spain, Hungary, Ireland, China, India, Mexico, Australia, Africa -- everybody, everywhere all the time. And why? Because of fire, primarily. Coal and oil. That gave civilization the energy it needed to really tear into the planet, and then really tear into each other. Fighting for fire. That was it. That was the reason at the base root. Ten years after the mass production of the internal combustion engine, ten years after the Wright brothers learned flight, ten years after the inception of the telegraph, ten years after they harnessed these new uses for fire, humans were fully beset on anhiliation. This anhiliation, they claimed, was a fight for rightousness. This was a whopping load of hooey, of course. The truth is this: 'civilization' harnessed fire, learned to fly, began the bombing. It was that simple. My response to this worldwide temper tantrum was to awaken Timothy Leary. Civilization needed to laugh, and be laughed at, and be reminded not to take itself so seriously, because the truth of the matter is this: Civilized society can be brutal, barbaric and downright beastial when confronted with the Great Unknown. In this case, however, they were just bored. You may sum up this period of worldwide War and Revolution with one word: Indulgence. Ironically, indulgence is something near and dear to the heathens which civilized society fought and killed with such vigor. Go figure. _ _ _
In the shadowed corridors of creativity, where the hum of machines meets the whisper of a pen, Kevin M. Cowan crafts his enigmatic tapestry. His words, like smoke spiraling from a forgotten cigarette, weave tales that linger in the dim corners of the mind, haunting yet familiar. As a musician, he conjures melodies that echo through the labyrinth of time, each note a ghostly footprint on the sands of silence. In the realm of technology, he dances with the digital phantoms, bending circuits to his will, forging connections between the ethereal and the tangible. Here, in this noir-lit world, Cowan stands as a bridge between the seen and the unseen, a maestro of the modern mystique.
Kevin M. Cowan is a writer, technologist, and artist whose work spans novels, AI development, drumming, and filmmaking. From his fiction roots in Nebraska to experimental media projects and cutting-edge AI, Kevin blends storytelling, sound, and code into one creative continuum. Explore his world — one story, rhythm, and idea at a time.
Music. Video. Visuals arts. All composed or curated by Kevin.
Neo, Archive Guide
