The way forward is not in the machines. Or, shining the light on crazy

Sometimes you see things with the type of clarity and realisation that makes other people believe that you’re crazy.
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Sometimes you see things with the type of clarity and realisation that makes other people believe that you’re crazy.

Today was one of those days. It’s not often that I talk about what happens when IĀ download information out of the matrix, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it. That’s for a good reason: It makes me sound insane.

It is also relatively rare. While I’ve had the usual kinds of experience of prescient dreaming (enough to have experienced how far forwards that prescience runs, and how to distinguish it from a ‘normal’ kind of dream), this downloading occurs randomly, often years apart, often when I least expect it.

When I first wrote the Golden Spiral theorem of community growth, it occurred by the chance coincidence of seeing two items one after the other, and then I had an extreme urge to write. The urge was so strong, in fact, that I couldn’t do anything else. I sat, and I wrote, and I did that for about 12 hours straight.

Those who know me also know that I type with a fairly high speed; roughly 120 wpm. So over 12 hours it means a focused bashing-out of a stupid amount of material. I barely knew what I had written until I had the opportunity to relax. There was no relaxing until it was out. It was like extracting a large, painful splinter, one that is going to start to break off if you don’t get it all in one go. At the end of that time, I read over what I’d gained and had a huge amount of mathematical formulae that – somehow – made perfect sense to me. All of the friends I sent it to came back with comments like, ‘I didn’t know you were a mathematical genius’. One verified the mathematicsĀ and found people who’d been using it unconsciously. Amazing.

In any case, that’s how the Golden Spiral was birthed.

Since then, I haven’t really had that kind of connection to the unknown. Perhaps that’s because it’s been nearly four years of business life, focused on The Doing and The Money and, one could argue, all the wrong things.

Until tonight.

Today I allowed myself to dream and think, and really work to let the creative vision flow, for my business Brutal Pixie. I’d set myself the task of writing 10, 5, 3, 1 year visions. Not plans, just a picture of where I want to go. A picture of the pathway, the direction, the shape. Something slightly more concrete than the generic vision cum elevator pitch.

I found myself writing 15 years, 20 years, 50 years, 100 years. I found myself writing past my own abdication from the throne, past the next wave of R&D beyond that point, past the point where what we are doing now is relevant and into something completely new.

This opened up the gates, as it were, and then this evening as I was putting the rubbish out in the bins, shivering because of the damp cold of this late winter night, I had a feeling.

It started in my belly, just above my navel, in what we might consider to be the third chakra: The solar plexus. Now, if you know your chakras, this chakra, Manipura, is the link between self and world. When it is open and balanced, you’re able to exert natural leadership and authority and organise things. It is the relation between thinking and feeling.

In any case, this feeling started. It started in the belly and it grew. I paused and paid attention to the feeling. I had a feeling that there was something I needed to write. I didn’t know what it was, but I had to write.

I came inside, grabbed my laptop, set it up, waited for it to think. Unable to wait, I opened the lightest text editor I have – good ol’ Notepad – and started to write.

As I wrote, the narrative flowed out of me. There was no question as to what perspective I was writing. There was no question as to what it was. The words were there, I wrote them. I couldn’t stop. In fact, it was like being in a trance: Staring fixedly at the screen and typing madly, with a military staccato that I am sure is unbearable to everyone else, at a speed that I don’t normally hit in my daily life. The splinter had to be gotten out all in one piece.

Three quarters of the way through this writing, I had a sensation as to being told these words, by a woman standing over my left shoulder. It was extremely odd, felt completely usual, and in no way alarmed me. But, it IS crazy in the retelling.

As soon as the narrative was out, the urge left, and I stopped writing, and had no desire to continue. It was there – the flow began – then the tap turned off, and it was done.

What I had written was an explanation about the songlines of time, and my place in the songlines of time. I had written an explanation of what I had tapped into this afternoon in shaping the visions for the business, and how and why this is important to me and my experience of being human.

What I had written is an explanation for why the future is not in the machines, but in the people. And how!

I could have published it here, but feel like it’s not the right time. I could have let you see what it is, but I chose not to because you’re not ready for it. Because I’m not ready for it. Because I haven’t gotten over the shining excitement, the sheer dread; my own deep conviction that this is important, and your potential thinking of my craziness that should be dulled by drugs.

In any case, if it teaches us anything, it teaches us never to ignore your instinct to create. Sometimes you find yourself giving birth to materials even you don’t understand, that are of an importance that it’s in your greatest peril to ignore.

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