You heard some comment on Facebook after making a comment on consciousness yourself. Reflection is a two way street orndorff. Now that your friends have spoken I will also. Here is your original question:
Is human consciousness created from within the brain alone and die with us or does it survives physical death? I debate this from time to time. I have my doubts either way as consciousness is a form of self-thought. What do you think? Can thought exist without a thinker?
My response is no, a thought cannot exist without a thinker. Here is the reason. First Cause, either with intent or by accident, created the physical universe. For all intents and purposes a ‘dimension’ existed. ‘Nothing’ cannot be thought or constructed even though, in theory, it could exist ‘elsewhere’. First Cause (the cause of the so called ‘big bang theory’) once existed and still may, but chances are, it evolved along with every ‘thing’ else because it automatically became ‘relative’ to every ‘thing’ else. This is the way the human mind constructs.
Science is still a story because human beings are naturally born storytellers. Separating the ‘fiction’ from First Cause is as separating ‘fiction’ from raw human reality in a four dimensional universe. This is such a ‘hammer’ to you that you see yourself as nailed mostly fiction. Human consciousness includes such fiction because storytelling whether using math or language, is still symbolic by its very nature.
No matter how you slice it, the mind and the brain and the body is the cause of 'reality' not the other way around. A period and a dot are two different things only because the mind has learned to register them as such. Every ‘thing’ is a translation, agreed upon or not. The translating is automatic and unconscious. Enough for now. You have a lunch to prepare to go to. Post. – Amorella.
Sitting east of Mason-Montgomery Road in front of Chipotle to the left of Five Guys, which is less to your favorite, Chinese. You and Rich have your pick depending on who is less busy when he arrives. We can finish up this scene today and begin another even though you are going to mow the yard as long as the weather holds. You might as well check your email. Later, dude. – Amorella.
After lunch you took the lawn mower in for a tune up and got it back about five. Mowed the grass and you and Carol had Papa John’s pizza for supper. Then some correspondence on Facebook, much to your liking. One of your former student’s. a Ph.D. and researching in molecular biology at Cambridge, came up with the idea of creating a synthetic thought as they have created synthetic DNA just recently. You enjoy the idea of it but still stick with Doug’s analogy that light is as a thought without a thinker.
It is all good stuff. I love thinking about these things and so do some of my former students and friends. The blood must flow! The mind must flourish in concepts unusually bent to stimulate the imagination and mind flows into the brain for added energy and enthusiasm of possibly walking on the edge from time to time. Good stuff, no question about it as far as I am concerned.
This stimulation is not a waste of time, orndorff. Let’s put it to further use and finish up this scene thirteen. – Amorella.
You see, it could be completed. Perhaps it is not what you expected, but then, what did you expect? Post. No more for tonight. – Amorella.
Scene 13
Takis found himself comfortably alone with the early stars already sprinkled about as the full moon rose in the east. Merlyn pulled himself out of what was supposedly thin air.
“Hello, Panagiotakis. Merlyn here.”
Takis immediately thought, a mix of dreamtime, and he replied rather dryly, “How uncommon.”
Merlyn whispered, “I touch all within the lines.”
“So be it,” droned Takis aloud. “Where are you, Merlyn?”
“Within.”
“How can this be?”
“I am the Dreamer,” acknowledged Merlyn with a determinable amount of emphasis.
Quickly, a surprised Takis understood and affirmed, “You are alive.”
“I am within a friend of living consciousness,” said Merlyn as politely as he dared.
An enigmatic probability within matterless range, thought Takis, and did not reply. Step by step Takis thought this problem out. Merlyn’s spirit is within my own or appears to be. The friend, his carriageless carrier, must be of an earlier age than myself. What human spirit could stretch so far without a Betweener’s help?
Takis felt a Betweener to be morally indeterminable, a distinct possibility in the natural order but not a probable one. An accident of being, he thought, is better than one of purpose for good or ill. I need counsel. He walked a short distance upstream then out above the Styx and summoned the other eleven.
The full moon stood almost directly overhead as each shaman emerged from the air dancing in a whirl near Panagiotakis. Reason, directed by from the modernized Latin alphabet, places each in a particular moment. Amenhotep, Amrita, B'alam, Dido, Enki, Ishtar, Jun, Kagami, Meir, Teja, and Tiwanaku was the last whirling shaman to emerge alone from the air above the moving waters of the River Styx. From the energy of the shamans’ perspective they, twin-named in meaning, were Pharaoh, Immortality, Jaguar, Virgin, Lord, Star, Truth, Mirror, Light, Luster and Stone who danced over the River Styx and around our genetic Mother’s shaman, named Holiness. Name and Name Meaning are separate aspects, the stone and cement of consciousness in the first twelve Earth-minded shaman Dead."
First, the consciousness of the four women froze in place. Pillars of determined thought, a focused will of being. Then, the willed consciousness of the eight men froze, also in place. The setting above the River Styx became seemingly synthetic, a shadowy seamed substance of collective will filtered through the moonlight above the darkly moving waters of the Styx. The now filtered moonlight of a moon which only existed because the collective hypnotically unconscious human wish of the Dead made it so.
Each shaman thus planted heranhis own garden of real determined thought and consciousness to grow and spread flat without accident. And, where below where the shaman stood as well as above where the shaman circle of twelve stood the River Styx reached the edge, the first corner of Merlyn’s chess board and lapped itself around three more new corners. Up or down, it made no difference.
Where thought exists in its own place nothing comes close, nothing becomes a protective skin, as it were, and new forms of the After-World rise and dance throughout the minds of the cultured Dead in Elysium, Assyria, Babylonia, China, Egypt, India, Indo-Europe, Israel, Japan, Olmec, Peru and Phoenicia.
The awareness of the shamans few became, almost overnight, the awareness of the many. The many human Dead became as one, with a secretly sun-yellow yoke of common hope centered in a monstrously dark egg of self-centered regret.
Such it was for all, including our individual characters in this up-start of a story of the first Rebellion of the Dead which began for the Living two thousand and some seven hundred years ago.
Merlyn thus reached another level of understanding, a place beyond words and knowledge but not beyond reason. If an Angel exists, thought Merlyn in those and these days, Reason still stirs her Heart.
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