A Singular Mystery

                                    A Singular Mystery

The sound of a bird stopped the moment in its tracks. He knew it was coming. He knew the deterioration of the sound before it happened. Predilection gave him all of this. Yet, there was still a small fraction, an undeniable crevice of Being that could never condition itself entirely to his knowledge. He had no reason to read anymore, no reason to seek out the world; his intelligence filled every lack. He was the embodiment of knowing. When he picked up a book with the extremities of his hands, poof, the entire plot, the characteristics ,a summary, every word transcribed into one single unit of information. Absolutely fascinating, but to him, incredibly mundane. It was far too simple as an experience, no endeavor of curiosity and pursuit towards an end, just one packet of bit sized knowledge delivered with ease. His sensor could predict sensations that breached a threshold up to two seconds before it became Being, and about one second after it dropped out. Time was thrown into observable conditions. The switch happened two years ago. Search for consciousness outside the conditions of Earth has always been a vast, provocative search, one that favored itself among spacecraft and all kinds of objects being thrown out into the great beyond. The One Who Knows All was the first known human scientist to have discovered a technique that didn’t involve hurdling people into Nothingness. It was called The Thought Defibrillator. In layman terms, The Thought Defibrillator was a honing radar that could detect the presence of Psychological Thinking. If a life form had thoughts, this radar could sense it up to five light years away. One night, while The One Who Knows All was testing the machine on a dry plateau, higher than the nearest mountain, the globular dial atop the jet black doric-style silicon base, the machine shot back a detection signal in the form of a massive implosion. The machine stayed perfectly okay. Just as it had been, beside the air of smoke billowing around it. But the scientist had felt the real blast of impact, a ringing that had nothing to do with his body. He immediately understood. Everything he perceived within awareness, the plateau, the intricacies of the machine, the pitch-black sky with the now far-too-aware being that was on its own planet. He knew far-far-far too much. There was no limited sphere where knowledge ended and began, hence no collision of his Will and the dread of Ignorance: that which makes us fully human. Initially he observed it with awe, but it dwindled farther and farther into disinterest. Even though he knew as much as he could ever want from anything, he was plagued by frustration as the days went on without surprise or novelty. No new aspects were revealed by consciousness’s light onto the world. It was the intellectual sameness every time any object was encountered. Years this went on, until now, until the beautiful song from the bird shot through the omniscience, as if the bird was itself participating in the very essence of Beautiful and that essence had sewn every bit of his knowledge into a uniform, incomparably non-dual Mystery. There was nothing he knew, no theory he could craft that could ever explain the mysterious beauty of this one song, by this one bird, in this innumerate world. Ignorance brought him home.